


wouldn't it be nice

by honeycombkiss



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (fuck that guy) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Beverly Marsh is So Done, Bill Denbrough is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak Needs A Hug, F/M, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Magical Realism, Mike Hanlon Deserves Nice Things, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Good Friend, Sharing a Bed, Soft Richie Tozier, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Twenty-Something Losers Club (IT), basically an endless summer taking place on paradise pier, sorta mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 36,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeycombkiss/pseuds/honeycombkiss
Summary: The beach looked amazing, in Richie's opinion. Granted, the moonlight always made the waves sparkle, and the joyous shouts of friends always made the beach seem alive, but somehow it felt different that night. The waves obeyed their lunar queen, coming back to kiss the shore over and over again.andRichie wants to ask Eddie a million questions, but it’s too loud and the moment is all wrong. If Eddie weren’t having the time of his life, Richie might selfishly whisk him away to somewhere quiet. Somewhere where the music didn’t feel like electricity, and the moonlight like magic.//or:Magic is in the air when Richie and Eddie fall in love under the golden sun, on the loveliest seaside attraction.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	1. i lost my heart at sea

**Author's Note:**

> Wow wow wow. Wow, this story has been in the works for longer than I can really say. (And was actually once outlined and very roughly written to be a Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles fic.) Writing this story was completely self-indulgent. It was born of my love for Disneyland Resort's Paradise Pier. It really was the loveliest seaside attraction. I fell in love with the place back in 2002. As many might know, the place was completely different back then. My second favorite Disney movie is The Little Mermaid, and I grew up watching Aquamarine, and the likes. There is also a strong influence from Pacific Ocean Park. If you do not know anything about that magical place of yesteryear, please do yourself a favor and research it. As well, reading mermaid folklore, legends, and myths is a lovely pass time.
> 
> So, this is my love letter to one of my very happiest places from yesterday. I hope I do it justice. I hope you fall in love, too.
> 
> I have a mix that I listened to while working on this story. You can find it [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/26JhEi3vqDk6Z4WFE8Neu0?si=Ngqc3rFQRyiG8fCa8Db0FA:>here</a>%20<br%20/>%0AAnd%20the%20pinterest%20board%20<a%20href=)  
> And also the pinterest board inspired by and visually depicting this fic [here](https://pin.it/3kmb3sM)
> 
> Okay, wow, sorry. Without further ado, here it is; wouldn't it be nice.

Part 1

i lost my heart at sea

Richie really wished he had an athletic bone in his body. He’d come to terms long ago that it was too ambitious of a goal; something that not even a genie could grant. (And if he ever met a genie, he probably wouldn’t wish for it anyway.) He wished he knew how to move his limbs sometimes. Or knew what to do with them other than flop at his sides. Especially in moments such as the one he’d tripped himself into.

It was like this: Richie was dressed in his favorite swim trunks (sharks with banana tails, floating in donut inflatable tubes), orange (prescription) sunglasses sitting on his nose, purple scrunchie attempting to keep his curls pulled away from his face. With the clock ticking ever closer to the hour, Richie was darting across the beach and towards the base of the pier. His shift started in mere minutes and as usual it didn’t seem that he’d make it on time. As he ran, he could feel the leftover pizza disagreeing with his stomach. But even all of _that_ was not the problem.

As he ran across the warming sand, he spotted a beginning surfers class meeting at the edge of the water, some ten feet away. As the eager preteens held their bobbing surfboards against their sides in the water, Richie caught eyes with their surf instructor. Which was exactly when he lost his footing and slipped through the sand, arms flailing as he fell right onto his ass.

He could hear some giggling, some murmurs, some mocking jeers—and that was all okay. It was part of the _act_ , Richie thought to himself. He could play a part, live for the applause. Except it wasn’t some random crowd of preteens ready to laugh at the plethora of sexual innuendo jokes at the tip of his tongue. It was also Connor fucking Bowers.

He and Connor had semi-accidently brewed this love hate relationship that Richie honestly hated to love and loved to hate. They had dated—if you could call getting drunk at the Cove Bar four nights a week and the occasional blow job _dating_ —nearly a year and a half ago. Obviously, it hadn’t lasted. Whether it was for the best or the worst (the votes were split 1 to 3 on that one), Richie did not admit that he sort-of-kind-of did his best to avoid the guy.

The sand was kind of itchy, and definitely beginning to seep into his swim trunks, and so it was really now or never. Richie briefly considered falling back, lolling out his tongue and playing dead. But playing dead really didn’t seem like the current best option, so Richie brushed the sand—and shame—off his palms and clambers to his feet.

Which was when he heard Connor’s nasally, definitely superficial voice call from the shore, “You alright, Rich?”

“Righter than your mom was last night,” Richie babbled, hoping he either made sense or made literally no sense in a funny way.

The preteens laughed, and Connor looked slightly disgruntled at Richie’s _Richieness_. But it was Connor fucking Bowers, so he counted it as a win anyway.

There was something about Connor’s presence, his gaze following Richie as he got back up and dusted the sand off his ass. He turned to wave dopily at the young surfers, and give Connor a mock-salute. He didn’t linger long enough to see if Connor would reply, turning back to his mission of getting to work in the next five minutes tops.

X

The setting sun followed Richie on his walk back home. His still peeling shoulders sagged under the heat that had yet to simmer down for the night. His nose was pretty itchy now, too, no doubt burnt from another day underneath the sun of the seaside. As he approached his building, though, he noticed the darkness permeating from he and Stan’s apartment. He wanted to tell a joke to no one, deflect from even himself that it _totally did not bother him_.

“Stan shman,” Richie scoffed to himself. “It’s good he’s not home, now he can’t get mad at me for eating cereal in the bathtub or on the couch, pfft,”

However, despite big plans of eating an entire bag of chips in a bubble bath, Richie noticed as he got closer, another important apartment at his building was well lit. On the bottom floor, the first apartment to the left was home to someone special.

“Jackpot,” Richie punched his fist into the air triumphantly, just as he passed two girls who gave him twin looks of bewilderment. Which was maybe double jackpot.

Richie didn’t bother knocking, instead pushing open the apartment door. Kay was sprawled out on the couch, a large red bowl in her grasps, a look of fear lighting up her features.

“You shit,” Kay shrieked, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Bev thought we were being robbed.”

The door slammed shut behind him, allowing him to turn completely to his right and spot Beverly at the table, sewing machine before her.

“Yeah, _Bev_ did,” Beverly scoffed, looking back down at her project, foot pushing the pedal and whirling the machine again.

“Somebuddy ought to lock that there door if ye lassie’s er afraid of bandits,” Richie wagged a finger at Kay and then over at Bev.

“ _Somebody_ ought to knock,” Beverly laughed.

“How was your day, Richard?” Kay asked, still from her perch on the couch.

“It was very terribly dreadful,” Richie threw an arm up over his eyes, tilting his head back as he did so, hipping jutting to the side.

Kay laughed at his dramatics, while Bev just snorted and asked, “Work was that bad?”

“Maybe, not _that_ bad, just semi-bad,” Richie snickered, as the jokes just seem to line themselves up sometimes, “Semi-bad, y’know, like a _semi_ , like poppin’ a semi at the most inopportune time?”

“You fucking child,” Kay grumbled, while Bev rolled her eyes,

“Who says _inopportune time_ while talking about a public boner?”

“Perverts,” Kay answered.

“Genius’,” Richie corrected, tongue stuck out towards her. Kay threw popcorn his way, and even when he jumped forward he still missed it by an inch. He stuck his tongue flat out, mouth wide, inviting her to throw again. She didn’t.

“So what made it so awful, Rich?” Beverly asked, bringing Richie’s attention back to the redhead.

“I just get sick of doing the same old thing, Bevvie,” Richie whined, thinking of the boardwalk games and how many times a day he had to restack clear bottles so that children could attempt to knock them down again.

“I can see that,” Kay nodded, just as Bev said, “Come to the fucking theater then, asshole,”

Richie chose to ignore Beverly—because that was seriously not a conversation he wanted to have right now—so he plowed on, trying to voice the thoughts he’d been having for weeks now.

“It’s just like,” Richie put on an annoyingly nasal Voice that he liked to call Average Adam, “Everyday’s the same as the last,” Richie snorted. “It’s like set this game up for little Johnny and watch him cry when he fucking sucks, and it’s that for six hours straight!” He exhaled a deep, dramatic sigh.

“You love it, though.” Beverly argued, her voice gentle, her eyes finally pulling away from her project. They made eye contact and Richie had to remind himself that the answers to the universe were not locked behind her ocean blue eyes.

“I do,” Richie agreed with an obnoxious sigh. “But, I’m just in a slump, I guess?” Richie didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but here he was, practically begging Beverly to fix it. “Fix it.” And there it was; Richie the sucker for Beverly’s wisdom.

Except he didn’t realize he’s walked himself into a corner, until Bev opened her mouth, “Come to the theater, Rich! Audition for a part, work backstage, be my assistant!”

He groaned; loudly. He looked away from Bev, and over towards Kay, who just raised her eyebrows and mouthed, “Dumbass,”

It was a conversation they’d had a lot lately.

One that came up again and again, despite Richie’s best efforts.

“Bevvie, Bevvie, my darling, my dying, my light-”

“Your what now?” Kay asked, while Bev giggled.

“It’s called _poetry_ , Kay, look it up,” Richie popped his hip out towards her, and she just rolled her eyes. But Bev though he was hilarious—and did not ever, ever humor him—giggling behind her hand. Which is when there was a loud commotion from outside their apartment door. It sounded like a seal had thundered down the stairs, and was now waiting to be invited inside. There was loud voices, too, as if someone was in a verbal altercation. Kay was up in a moment, leaping towards the apartment door that Richie was already flinging open.

“What the hell?”

Standing before him was none other than Bill Denbrough, a look of pure frenzy clear against his features.

“What the dick is going on?” Richie asked, reaching out to grab Bill by the forearms. His hair was wild, his red-tinged highlighted hair alight in the dying sunlight. His eyes were wide and mystified, an aura of derange surrounding him.

“Oh my guh-guh-god,” Bill was panting, trying to force words out.

“What the-” Beverly started, but Bill cut her off.

“Oh my guh-guh-guh-god,” Bill repeated himself, his eyes still full of something a bit crazy. “Oh m-m-my huh-hell,”

“Bill, what the fuck?” Richie shook him gently, his forearms still gripped firmly in Richie’s grasp.

“I suh-suh-suh,” Bill paused, as he sometimes had to do when his stutter got too bad. “ _Fuck!_ ” He cussed when he struggled again. “You wuh-wuh-won’t buh-be _lieve_ what I suh-saw!” Bill finally wheezed out.

“Well at this rate we may never fucking know, will we, Billiam?” Richie said, watching as Bev and Kay exchanged glances.

“I’ve nuh-never, _never,_ ” Bill took a moment to heave in another breath, and Richie was starting to realize that Bill must’ve run the entire way from the dock at the wharf.

“Did you fucking _run_ the whole way home, Bill?” Richie asked, a laugh in his voice.

“Yes!” Bill exclaimed in slight exasperation.

“And here I was thinking _I was out of shape_ ,” Richie whistled low, gesturing up and down to Bill’s body like some tall, hairy Vanna White.

“Shut up, Richie,” Bev and Kay said in unison.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie grumbled, but Beverly just spoke over him,

“What did you see, Bill? A shark?”

Bill shook his head exaggeratedly, whipping his hair back and forth. Richie had to bite his tongue to stop himself from singing along to the song that was now playing in his head.

“I’ve nuh-never seen anyth-th-thing like it,” Bill sputtered. “In all my yuh-years out at suh-suh-sea,” Bill’s voice whistled on the _s_ sound, furthering the dramatic scene unfolding in the stairwell of Paradise View Apartments.

“Bill, come on, out with it,” Beverly prompted, just as Richie shook Bill again.

“I suh-saw a me-me-mer-m-maid!” Poor Bill stuttered profusely through the word, making it nearly unrecognizable.

“I’m sorry, but did you just say mermaid?” Kay asked, eyebrows furrowed. Beverly looked about the same, tilting her head to the side to really size Bill up, Richie figured. And Richie, he took in Bill’s saucer-sized eyes paired with his short heavy puffs of breath, and just _laughed_. It started somewhere low in his belly, coming out first as a guffaw, shocking even himself.

A light blush dusted Bill’s cheek, an embarrassed-sounding whine slipping from his lips. Bev and Kay exchange glanced, seemingly unsure of how to respond themselves. Kay looked ready to laugh herself, and when a sheepish giggle slipped from Beverly’s own lips, Richie was a goner.

Richie has to let go of Bill to wrap his arms around his stomach and bend over in pure elation. Even had he wanted to, Richie couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from his chest. It was infectious to even himself, doubling him over at the sheer force of it. His eyes stung with unshed tears of mirth. He laughed and laughed, thinking of Bill’s face, until he was snorting, his stomach aching with the force of his amusement.

“Bill, you always know exactly what I need to hear,” Richie finally wheezed out. “You really are my best friend.”

“Ruh-richie, I’m fuh-fucking serious.” Bill had a full-on pout across his face. “I ruh-really suh-saw a muh-mer-m-maid.”

“Sure ya did,” Richie nodded with dramatic enthusiasm.

“I think you’ve been spending too much time fishing,” Beverly cut in, concern lacing her voice. “When’s the last time you had a day off?”

“Richie, Buh-bev, Kay, _guys_ ,” Bill looked at them each seriously. “I suh-swear to you, I suh-saw a mermaid. It huh-had luh-like a gold tail, f-flowy br-brunette hair, g-gentle face, sc-scales; a mermaid.”

“Alright, I admit, it’s a great story, Big Bill,” Richie laughed. “Definitely gonna be hot with the ladies,” he waggled his eyebrows. “As long as they’ve got seaweed for brains,”

“Don’t talk about women like that, Richie, Jesus Christ,” Kay admonished.

“Hey, no,” Richie pointed at Kay, before turning back to Bill. “This is a great idea. Get the ladies onto your stinky-ass fishing boat. You can be all,” Richie cleared his throat loudly, pitching his voice low to say, “Wanna see a mermaid? Come with me.”

“You sound like a kidnapper,” Bev rolled her eyes, elbowing Richie as she spoke. “And Bill,” she started, turning her attention to him. “It was probably just a big fish, one that usually doesn’t swim that close to shore.”

“You du-duh-don’t b-believe me,” Bill didn’t say it like a question, his features falling flat. Richie loved Bill enough to feel a bit bad for his reaction.

“Bev’s probably right,” Richie started, though Bill just shook his head at him.

“I know what I suh-saw,”

“Well I saw Connor fucking Bowers today, looking handsome as shit and still disgusting enough to make my stomach roll, so I think we’ve both seen our fair share of mystical shit for one day,”

“Connor?” Beverly asked, turning towards Richie. “Why didn’t you say anything? No wonder you’re in a mood,” there was a teasing hint to her voice, but Richie could still hear the worry behind it.

“I’m not in a _mood_ ,” Richie whined. “I am feeling and acting exactly how any sane person in my position would.”

“So we’re just going to forget that Bill thinks he saw a mermaid?” Kay cut across whatever Bev had been ready to say. “Because I think this is kinda serious.”

“Go back to therapist school if you wanna start dealing out fucking diagnosis again, Kay,” Richie shot back, crossing his arms to fix her with a look. “Big Bill is perfectly sane.”

“He’s not the one I’m worried about,” she grumbled, though she did drop the subject. “Maybe we should all go inside, watch some shark week and try to unwind. Seems like everyone had kind of a tough day.”

Richie was about to argue—or complain, mostly to get under Kay’s nerves—but Bill just nodded.

“I’d luh-like that,” he smiled, following Kay as she headed towards their apartment door and over the threshold. Richie turned to follow, before Beverly grabbed his arm.

“Wanna smoke?” she asked, pulling a pack out of her denim jacket pocket. Richie nodded, following her up the stairs and out behind their apartment building.

Bev lit her own cigarette, before passing the pack and lighter over to Richie. With a hand cupped over the end of it—to protect the tiny, flickering flame from the sea air—Richie lit his own and took a deep breath. It warmed him all the way through, leaving him already feeling lighter.

The stars were just beginning to glitter up above them. From their spot several hundred yards away from the dazzling lights of Paradise Pier, Richie could barely point out some familiar constellations. Like somebody’s belt, and Ursa Major and Minor.

He leaned his back against the brick building, feeling it’s cool touch even through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“You wanna talk about it?” Bev asked softly, because she was a real friend; better than Richie at least. He shook his head, before gravely grumbling,

“What’s there to say?”

“Whatever you say, Rich,” 

Richie thought he maybe wouldn’t mind to talk to Bev, but he really didn’t know what to say. It was just that sometimes he didn’t want to stay in Paradise Pier anymore. It was just that it didn’t feel like enough sometimes. Richie loved Paradise Pier. That was why he quit college halfway through and moved across the country. He loved how the sun never seemed to stop shining. And he loved the waves that lapped at the beaches shore twenty-four hours a day. He loved his cozy apartment that he shared with Stan. He loved being a floor above Bill and how that allowed them to pound on their floor or ceiling respectively in their secret language. And if he left, he’d surely leave his heart behind with Bev. He really did enjoy all of his friends’ company. He’d miss them if he left. But, sometimes Paradise Pier was lonely. Sometimes Paradise Pier was too big. And seeing Connor fucking Bowers had brought all of that back to the surface. It was hard to shove it down when it was so glaringly obvious.

X

When Richie finally got into his apartment that night, it was still quiet. He kicked his shoes off, letting them hit the back of the kitchen counter that faced into the living room.

As was typical for Richie, he’d forgotten to take his phone that day. Despite it being set clearly on the kitchen countertop. So it was sitting there waiting for him. After toeing off his socks, and unthreading his clunky, uncomfortable belt he grabbed for the phone still sitting there.

At only ten percent battery (another thing Richie forgot was plugging the damn thing in), he found three missed calls. Two from a Wentworth Tozier and one from a Maggie—his parents. They meant well; he knew they did. But he wasn’t going to dental school; not now, not ever. Went would soon need someone to pass his practice to, but Richie knew it couldn’t be him.

Richie chose to play the voicemail on speaker—Stan was gone, the apartment was quiet—and immediately his father’s loud, boisterous voice was filling the empty space. (And maybe he missed the old man just a little bit.)

Went’s voice sounded distant and tinny, asking him about his job and the fucking weather and if he’ll be coming home to visit anytime soon. Richie flitted around the kitchen then, listening as his father finally started talking about the dentistry again and how he’ll pay for his schooling. Richie’s eyes scanned through the shelves above their washer and dryer that acted as a pantry. There was boxes of mac-n-cheese, and also a pack of Stan’s favorite whole-wheat spaghetti noodles. His dad was wrapping up the message then, asking Richie to call back soon, telling him that he missed him, and that he and his mother loved him. The message ended, silence filling the apartment again.

Richie grabbed the box of mac-n-cheese, and as he walked towards the stove-top he squatted to grab a pot from its spot behind a cabinet drawer.

Paradise Pier invited the young and the young-at-heart to experience fun in the sun. Locals visited the seaside attraction, and people travelled from far and wide to vacation. The place had a way of wiggling into your heart and taking root. Such as with Beverly and Kay. They were both from the northwest. They spent their senior year spring break running through the waves in paradise. Four months later they were moving into Paradise View Apartments. They were two of the happiest people Richie had ever meant. Which was saying a lot. Everyone was happy in Paradise Pier.

And the same could be said for everyone he’d met in this paradise. Himself included. He was not going to call his dad, and he was not going to dental school.

An hour or so later, as he lay in his bed (a mattress in the middle of the floor, a pile of blankets cocooning him), willing himself to fall asleep, he couldn’t help his mind from wandering. Bill had always believed that maybe there was something out there, had always held onto that belief. Once, he and Bev—back when they were _dating_ —had spent multiple weeks’ worth of free time in the public library reading up on mermaid myths and legends. That was a long time ago, and Bev had only done it because the honeymoon phase had been that _sweet_ , Richie knew. It wasn’t something she had actively believed then, nor now. Now though, Bill had been really stressed lately. It really wasn’t that farfetched to believe that Bill was making it up. He could’ve seen a dolphin, and let his imaginative hope get out of hand. Bill really did spend too much time out at sea, in Richie’s opinion, but he tried to keep that to himself. Well, mostly to himself. He and the others had talked about it once or twice. But, the thing was, Bill loved fishing. There wasn’t much Richie could do to break him away. All he really could do was make sure he didn’t go out alone again until he dropped the mermaid charade.

With his new plan brewing, Richie promised himself he’d talk with the others as soon as he could. He needed back up.

X

Stan was already gone, Richie noted after karate kicking his bedroom door open. It was neat and tidy, and empty. Richie peered around the corner, to the calendar that was pinned right above the light switch. The picture was of some exotic parrot, making Richie chuckle. _PPNPC_ was written in clear lettering on the current date, all the ones before it neatly crossed out in black sharpie. Richie nodded his head, passed through to Stan’s closet, flung open the doors, grabbed a tan baseball cap with _PPNPC_ stitched—thanks to one Beverly Marsh—onto the front.

Stan was younger than Richie was, came running to Paradise Pier just after high school with a bad case of OCD and a trunk full of bird books. That first year they’d sold hot dogs side-by-side at the stand. And that second year they’d become roommates and began working their separate jobs; Richie to the boardwalk games and Stan to co-chairman of the Paradise Pier Nature Preservation Committee.

Breakfast had to be quick if he planned to meet up with Stan before a day excursion with the Committee or Volunteers or paying customers. Stan was quite the busy man, Richie knew, so he shoved two raspberry poptarts in the toaster before zooming out the door.

Richie had to jog down to the pier, afraid to miss Stan entirely. But the closer he got, he could finally spot Stan surrounded by a small group of people just underneath the pier, gathering beside the large wooden planks that kept the pier standing.

“Stan! Stanley!” Richie called to him from a foot or so away, and Stan slowly turned his head—obviously mid-conversation with the woman beside him—and gave Richie a small, rueful smile.

“Richie,” he greeted once Richie was within speaking distance. “Are you joining our tour today?”

“Well, as much fun as that fucking sounds,” Richie said, a note of sarcasm laced in his voice, causing Stan to frown at him. “I’m here on official best friend business,”

“Oh?” Stan furrowed his eyebrows. He had a clipboard in his grasps, wearing an identical cap to the one Richie was sporting, with a pair of binoculars hanging from his neck. He looked great, pale skin obviously coated in layers of sunblock. Richie missed him; maybe a nature walk wouldn’t be completely horrible. “What’s up?”

“Well, you see, dear sweet Billiam has lost his fucking mind,”

“If this is about his ketchup preferences again, I really don’t have time to hear you groan about it right now,” Stan said, shoulders relaxing slightly. Richie hadn’t noticed they’d tensed at all, as it was kind of the Stanley-way.

“No, fuck, that stuff pales in comparison to how fucking nutso Bill sounded last night,” Richie tried to explain.

“I saw him just this morning,” Stan said, eyebrows furrowing again. “He seemed completely normal to me.”

“Did he tell you about his mermaid?” Richie asked, giving Stan a pointed look at the sigh he puffed out, which was all the answer Richie needed. “See?! What’d I say, Stan? He’s fucking lost it!”

“Richie, you thought alligators lived in the ocean,” Stan started, giving Richie a pointed look of his own. “Remember when you claimed to have seen one?”

“This is nothing like that!” Richie squawked. “At least alligators are _real_!”

“He thinks that shit is real,” Stan countered. “Remember those months he spent researching them with-”

“Yeah with Beverly, and he made us all sit through his fucking ted talk about their history and lore,” Richie rolled his eyes. “I still say that’s fucking different than whatever this latest _thing_ is,”

“Maybe,” Stan shrugged. “I guess everything he said then was based on his readings,”

“And you know what else he found in his readings? Fishermen who go fucking missing at sea, chasing after their ‘mermaids’,” Richie used his fingers to make quotation marks, and Stan just kind of sigh-nodded again. “He’s going to go missing at sea!”

“He’s not fucking out at sea, Rich, he fishes near the wharf,”

“Yeah, well what happens when he doesn’t come back to shore next time, Stan, huh? What then?”

“God, Richie, don’t be so insensitive,” Stan fixed him with a signature Stan _look_. “That’s serious,”

“So is this!” Richie exclaimed, before he pulled his hands to chest and made starry-eyes, “Oh mermaid,” he pitched his voice high. “I’m g-g-g-g-g-”

“Fuck off, Richie, that’s not even funny,” Stan nudged him. “And Bill doesn’t sound like that,”

“Whatever,” Richie shrugged. “Small technicality,”

“I guess I don’t see the problem,”

“What did he tell you about his mermaid, Stan?”

“What does it matter?”

“Tell me!” Richie nearly shrieked, causing many to glance over at him.

“Oh hush,” Stan shoved Richie again, albeit gently. “Well, I don’t remember exactly what he said word-for-word. But it was something about what he’d seen, a golden tail or something, and then he,” Stan stopped, looking the most serous he had this entire conversation. “And he asked me to keep a watch for the mermaid on my nature walk today,” his voice sort of trailed off.

“See! He’s going nutty!” Richie exclaimed.

“I didn’t think he was serious!” Stan’s voice rose slightly at that. “I thought it was a joke, and I didn’t really feel like crushing dreams at eight-fifteen in the morning,”

“Stan, a dream savior and true friend,” Richie wistfully sighed, blinking his eye lashes obnoxiously.

“Fuck off,” Stan grumbled.

“It’s not like I want to crush his dreams, either,” Richie said seriously. “But how do we gently tell him he’s going bonkers?”

“Richie!” Stan chided.

“Stan!” Richie mimicked. “We have to do something! We’re, like, morally obligated or some shit,”

“I don’t think moral obligations relate to a situation like this,” Stan corrected, adjusting the clipboard in his grasps, and checking his watch. “Shit,” he mumbled. “I’ve gotta go, Richie, our nature walk starts in five,”

“I haven’t shared my brilliant and altruistic plan with you yet, though!” Richie reached for Stan’s hand, pulling him back into his orbit. Stan grumbled, but comes anyway.

“I was thinking I could like go out with him,” Richie explained, gesturing towards the wharf out in the distance. “Just to see if he’s being safe and all that.”

“Are you proposing I do the same?” At Richie’s head nod, Stan continued, “When do either of us have time for that?”

“I don’t know! We can make time, on a day off or something! I can get Kay and Bev to do the same!” Richie suggested. “It’s like we’re all Bill’s loving parents, splitting custody and shit,”

Stan looked lightly appalled, rolling his eyes. “That’s a terrible analogy,”

“Well whatever, it was the first one that came to mind.” Richie defended. “And this is good, because fuck knows I need more of a purpose here than manning a fucking boardwalk game. Everyone else has it all figured out, nows my turn to figure something out.” Once the words had all tumbled out, Richie regretted spilling them at Stan’s feet moments before he had to go. Stan was an incredible friend, but nobody could fix a broken Richie in thirty seconds.

“What was that?” Stan raised his eyebrows, followed by a full body scan.

“It’s not important,” Richie tried, waving his hand off to really show how small of a deal it all really was.

“We’re talking later,” Stan said, sounding like the concerned father he already looked like.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie grumbled. “Have fun, bird-boy.”

X

On Wednesdays, Richie worked the boardwalk games clear into the starry nights. Richie loved it—the whining children customers were few and far between, teens and adults instead taking their turn at winning a stuffed sea creature. The pier’s glittering lights hung from lamp posts, creating a blanket of brightness. Not to mention the buildings dressed in blinking bulbs to draw in customers both young and old. And the effervescent glow of the attractions, lit up by thousands of twinkling lights. It was a beautiful sight, one Richie didn’t think he’d ever get used to.

Wednesday morning turned out to be a great day to join Bill out on his little fishing boat. It was time to put Bill to the test—was he still the ever-responsible fisherman he’d always claimed to be?

Richie had never been so grateful to be a morning person than when his alarm went off precisely at seven am on the dot. He only got slightly tangled in his blankets as he flung himself out of bed, and towards his closet. He was sure he had the perfect _going-out-to-fish_ outfit somewhere. Unfortunately, he hadn’t organized his closet since he moved in years ago. There were the clothing on the hangers, and the ones folded on the shelves, and then there were the ones hiding in the huge pile on the floor.

In his search, he spotted several outfits that could potentially work—rash guard tops, wet-suits, yellow t-shirts, t-shirts with palm trees, his favorite _Treasures in Paradise_ top—but none of them were his horrendously bright orange Hawaiian button-up shirt. That had to be the one to spot-or-not-spot a mermaid.

He continuing to dig, until his hands made purchase on a t-shirt he’d forgotten he had. It was a terrible shade of dark purple ( _chartreuse? Richie couldn’t help but wonder_ ) that had little creatures with the top half as a cat, and the bottom half had a mermaid-type tail. It was perfect. Paired with black-jean shorts, Richie yanks on his _PPNPC_ hat and raced to the kitchen. He’d bought a pizza last night, shoved it in the fridge, and now it was the perfect breakfast, lunch and snack for a day at sea.

As he slammed his apartment door shut, he could spot Bill off in the distance walking towards the wharf. Richie really should’ve thought ahead and warned Bill that he’d have a co-captain that day.

“Bill!” Richie called, but the other didn’t seem to have heard as he continued his trek. Richie took off towards the stair-case, hoping his long-legs would carry him far despite his inability to run.

Once he’d descended the stairs, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled with all his might, “Billiam!” Bill whipped his head around, spotted Richie and waved happily. To Richie’s relief, he stopped and waited for Richie to catch up.

“Wh-what’s up, Rich?”

“You see, Billard, I’m just absolutely bored out of my mind,” Richie knocked against his scalp at that, causing Bill to giggle. Bill had a lunch-box in his grasps, and bucket-hat over his head. “So I thought,” and here Richie coughed and squealed a high-pitched voice, “ _I really gotta spend the day with that hunk of a guy Bill,_ ” Bill laughed loudly at that, followed by a snort, nose and eyes scrunched up. And if things were different, maybe Richie might’ve even felt a little bit in love with him.

“You wanna cuh-come fish-shing?” Bill asked, a note of confusion tinted in his voice.

“I’m always coming with you, Billy,” Richie used a sultry Voice, getting yet another laugh from Bill.

“Ewe, gross, Ruh-richie,” Bill said, but Richie didn’t really believe him since he was laughing still.

“I even brought lunch, see?” Richie shook the large pizza box in his grasps, drawing Bill’s attention to it for seemingly the first time. His eyebrows rose.

“Whoa, okay,” Bill nodded his head. “C-come along, m-matey,” Bill looked pleased at his word-choice, so Richie absolutely had to pity-laugh for him. Luckily, Bill didn’t seem to realize it was anything but genuine.

Richie followed behind Bill then as they trekked to the Pacific Wharf. It was a bit of a walk from Paradise View Apartments. The sun shone up above them, promising everyone a beautiful day.

“You really didn’t need to come,” Bill shouted back at him, his boots making squeaking noises with every step.

“Can’t I just want to come have a good day with my matey?” Richie called in return. Bill just shook his head.

“I didn’t even know y-you luh-liked fish-shing,” Bill pointed out, and Richie just spluttered in posed disbelief.

“I do not hate fishing,” Richie clucked. “I just really love you, Billy,”

“Okay,” Bill’s voice trailed off. “If you suh-say s-so,”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been out on your boat,” Richie added. “Which is practically a best friend crime. Plus, I might be an incredible fisherman and nobody even fucking knows it!”

Bill laughed loudly at that.

“What?!” Richie asked, trying to sound pained.

“Y-you, Ruh-richie T-tozier, guh-good at fuh-fishing?” Bill’s stutter worsened as he laughed.

Richie gasped. “I can’t believe you don’t have the slightest bit of faith in lil’ ole me?!”

Bill just smiled at that, shooting Richie a look. Sometimes Richie forgot how well he and Bill had always seemed to get along. Sure he wasn’t his bestest Paradise Pier friend and roommate Stan. And he wasn’t the twin flame of his soul Miss Beverly Marsh. But he was fucking _Bill_. And he always laughed at Richie’s jokes, and although he was never any good at it, he tried his best to joke, too. He was a charmer for sure, and Richie was suddenly sure that it was going to be a fan-fucking-tastic day.

Bill’s boat somehow looked both exactly and nothing like Richie had imagined it. It was an old fishing boat with a tiny, loud motor stationed at the back. The drivers seat was a dumpy bucket seat, and the wheel was peeling. There were buckets everywhere, and the entire thing reeked like fish. Which wasn’t Richie’s favorite smell, to say the least. But it was instantly obvious that Bill was so proud of the damn thing.

They clambered aboard, rocking the thing slightly to-and-fro. A rope still tied them against the dock, though. Richie took a seat on one of the benches, where a large blue and white striped beach towel was draped over it. Bill adjusted his bucket hat, and pulled a pair of sunglasses from a little compartment below the wheel. Richie couldn’t help but smile; Bill just looked so at ease. His shoulders were relaxed as he turned the key in the ignition and turned to untie some fancy rope knots. They slowly puttered away from the dock, Bill looking behind his shoulder the entire time.

Hours passed on that little fishing boat, with nothing more exciting than Richie’s jokes and Bill’s attempts to banter back. Richie had dozed off multiple times, but it was especially hard to stay sleeping for long while the boat rocked against the waves. While Richie was in and out of sleep, Bill had filled a bucket of fish. He hadn’t mentioned the mermaid thing once. Richie wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. Could it be that the mermaid hadn’t surfaced? Was Bill afraid of saying something since Richie had teased him mercilessly the last time he’d mentioned it? Richie wanted to be relieved; Bill was one of his best friends.

When Richie had moved to Paradise Pier, he and Bill had bonded over drinks at beach parties and then he’d crashed on Bill’s couch for weeks when his roommate was being particularly awful. Richie had looked up to Bill’s ability to surf and not give a shit what others thought. They’d partied together, and had morning hang overs together, and gotten high together more times than Richie could count. He wasn’t keen on the idea of losing Bill to the mystery of the sea. Whether mermaids were myth or not, many sailors had been allured by what they believed to be mermaids for centuries.

“Getting hungry?” Bill’s voice broke through the sound of the peaceful ocean, stirring Richie from his endless thoughts and almost-slumber.

“Are you offering yourself to me, handsome?” Richie leered, adding on a wink for good measure.

Bill laughed and moved from his seat at the wheel, plopping down beside Richie on the bench. It rocked the boat, and Richie _almost_ had to lean over and empty his stomach.

“Whoa, easy there, buckaroo,” Richie groaned, clutching his stomach dramatically.

Bill just bounced in his seat, making the boat shake more. And Richie was sure he was going to be sick. Bill paid him no mind, as he opened up his lunch pail and began pulling things out. He had a sandwich, apple slices, and an orange, a little bag of chips, and a capri sun packet.

“Did mommy pack your lunch this morning, Bill?” Richie asked, holding up the clear bag of apple slices. Bill chuckled, snatching the bag back.

“You’re j-j-just jealous,” Bill shot back, pointing at Richie’s cardboard pizza box. Richie guffawed.

“Um, what’s there to be jealous of? Fruit? Pfft,” Richie reached for his own lunch. “Meat lovers pizza wins this one, Big Bill,”

As they eat (and Richie almost dumped over the bucket of fish, and then Bill attempted to make Richie seasick), Richie thought the day wasn’t a complete waste. Maybe there weren’t mermaids, but he hadn’t hung out with Bill like this in a while. So, all-in-all, Richie counted it as a win. Except for maybe the sunburn he could already feel.

“Well what a day,” Richie said, punctuating each word separately with a voice. “Did you see anything interesting out there, Big Bill?” Bill was just wiping his face with a fucking napkin, but his baby blue eyes glistened as he looked over at Richie.

“If you’re asking if I suh-sp-spotted the mermuh-maid, the answers nnno,” Bill answeeds, his voice a bit clipped.

“That’s a shame,” Richie sighed, doing his best to act put-out. “Was hoping to see ‘em.”

“Suh-so was I,” Bill sounded wistful, and Richie almost felt bad. “Anyway, ruh-ready to huh-head b-back?”

“Sure, yeah,” Richie nodded nonchalantly.

Bill climbed back into his bucket chair once more and rubbed his fists over his eyes. He took a moment to look out across the ocean, eyes seeming to track the horizon. It was a moment before he turned the key in the ignition again, navigating the boat back towards the shore.

Richie closed his eyes and listened to the boat sail against the waves. He felt a bit better knowing that Bill didn’t claim to see anything. But a bigger part of him felt disappointed he wasn’t able to put Bill in his place. Had there been a spotting, Richie could’ve shown him how it was a dolphin or manatee or fucking _alligator_ and not a mystical mermaid.

Maybe he’ll just have to come back out sometime soon.

X

Lately, Miss Patty Blum was over at their apartment nearly every night. Ever since she and Stan began dating a couple months ago, she’d become a constant presence in their lives. Richie adored how she snorted when she laughed, or how she could sing along to every song on the radio, or the fact that she didn’t drink coffee, but tea instead. And most of all, she was quick-witted, constantly keeping he and Stan on their toes.

Tonight, her messy black curls were pulled back in a ponytail. Although her apartment—clear down in building D, as opposed to their building A apartment—was inviting and constantly smelt like lavender and honey, she was standing at the stove in Richie and Stan’s place. They kept the windows pushed open most of the time, and so it always smelt like fresh sea air. Not so surprisingly, the sound and smell were very therapeutic for Stan.

Patty loved to cook, and tonight she and Stan were sharing space together in the small apartment kitchen. There was something delicious-smelling boiling on the stove when Richie came in from his great sea adventures with Bill. He was tired, wishing there was time for a nap before he was meant to start his shift on the pier.

Richie waved to the couple before he was back in his bedroom, searching through his closet for a clean _Games of the Boardwalk_ t-shirt. They were navy with bright lettering, and Richie kind of loved them.

At the bottom of one pile in his closet he finally spotted a shirt. It was wrinkled and Richie had to smell the pits, just in case. It passed his double-sniff test, so it was exchanged for the shirt he wore to sea—which smelt overwhelmingly fishy. It would definitely leave a stench in his room if he didn’t remember to do laundry tomorrow—which was still anybody’s guess.

After changing shirt and hat, Richie was back in the open kitchen and living area, ready to beg off some food from the pair. They were still huddled together beside the stove, Stan’s arms wrapped around Patty’s middle. He was mumbling something into her ear that made her smile and chuckle low.

Richie fake gagged loudly, causing the pair to jump in surprise.

“Fuck off, Richie,” Stan grumbled, as Patty sing-songs,

“Hello, Richie,”

Richie badly wanted to stay to tease them and mix cocktails, pretend to twerk to the smooth jazz playing from Stan’s phone. And although he’d never admit it out loud, it’s reasons like this that he hasn’t left Paradise Pier yet. Even when it felt like he’s over-stayed his welcome, and that maybe his parents were right.

Running away to Paradise Pier had been an escape when Richie had needed one. He’d run away from the _responsible_ life of college and the prospect of dental school. And he hadn’t looked back once. Nothing else had felt right. Turning eighteen had been a terrifying day, and then it had been nineteen, and then _twenty_ and Junior year of college, and there’d been words like _settling down_ and _growing up_. There had been too many questions. Too many fears. Too many what if’s. So he’d ran. Living here in paradise had been everything he knew it would be, except for sometimes when it wasn’t.

Richie had to physically shake his body, wiggle his arms around and roll his neck to shake off the heavy thoughts. He tapped into the music playing, lyrics about losing yourself in someone you love, and something about never surrendering who you are.

“Are you working tonight?” Patty asked kindly, glancing over at Richie doing the worm while standing.

“Yep,” Richie popped the ‘p’ loudly, stilling his wiggly body. “But I really wish I was staying here to crash date night,”

“How was Bill?” Stan asked, eyes full of a concern Richie wasn’t expecting. Not that Stan was an asshole, but that Stan didn’t always wear his emotions so clearly on his sleeve. But this was kind of a big deal, Richie had to remind himself. Bill chasing mermaids into the horizon wasn’t exactly something any of them wanted to happen.

“Ahoy!” Richie yelled in a pirate captain Voice. “Captain Big Bill may haps of lost his lily-livered mind!”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Stan shook his head, while Patty clarified,

“No mermaids?”

“Argh, me matey,” Richie shook his head. “Ye know about these mermaids?”

“I heard there was a sighting,” Patty said, a smile growing up her features. “And I have to admit, the little child in me got kind of excited,”

“Not you too!” Richie put a hand to his head, pretending to faint while still standing. “I can’t lose everyone!” Patty giggled.

“You don’t have to worry about Stan,” Patty nodded her head towards him.

“That’s only because Stan doesn’t have an imagination,” Richie shrugged. “It’s no fault of his own, truly,”

“Oh fuck off,” Stan grumbled. “Believing that a half human, half fish hybrid is out at sea, and that Bill may have seen one is not a sign of someone’s ability to imagine,”

“Blah blah blah,” Richie mocked, sticking his tongue out. Stan’s features didn’t budge, even as he said,

“You’ll be late if you don’t leave,”

“I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Richie fake pouted, heading to the door all the same. “Especially since we still haven’t talked about my near mental breakdown last week and you promised!” He tried to sound like a petulant teenager, instead of a twenty-something year old man who still leaned heavily on his best friend for emotional stability.

Stan looked startled. “I’m sorry, Richie,” he said. “I guess I forgot.”

“Well don’t let it happen again!” Richie shrieked, heading towards the door.

“Bye, Richie!” Patty called to him as he opened the door, followed by Stan’s,

“We’ll talk later, Richie,”

Richie raised a middle finger and paired it with a, “Later, losers,”

X

Somehow, it became a weird habit; going out to sea with Bill. It was like this: how do you say no when a friend asks if you’re coming out fishing with them again? And how do you deny that you’re still sort of worried about their sanity? (And you still maybe sort of, kind of want to see this supposed mermaid?) And how do you leave that worry up to other friends—who also accompany a certain insane friend to sea? So Richie found himself out on a rickety old boat that reeked of fish. And he was not sure whether he minded it or not.

They bring snacks to share throughout the morning. They get to talk for hours about everything and nothing. It was simple things, like funny childhood memories or favorite songs. And also the big things, like Richie leaving university and Bill’s little brother.

There were weird things, too, like the fact that the stench of fish is sort of starting to grow on him. The weather was always stunning, and the water always sparkled. Richie really loved to watch the waves grow and break clear away from the shore. He got to watch seagulls fly, clouds pass by, and the occasional school of flying fish. Bill taught him little tips and tricks that made Richie feel more comfortable holding a fishing pole.

On one of these designated sunny, summery afternoons, Richie bought a bucket hat on the way out to the Pacific Wharf. It was goofy, kind of like the huge smile on his face, and the coconut button-up he was wearing. He had a feeling that it was going to be a great day. He’d gotten a full night’s sleep, had a full breakfast (that Stan had prepared), and his skin wasn’t currently peeling from a sunburn.

It was familiar climbing aboard the _S.S. Georgie_ , and pulling away from the dock.

“Another beautiful day at sea,” Richie teased Bill.

“What are y-y-you so huh-happy ab-bout?” Bill gave him a quizzical look.

“What?!” Richie shoved at Bill’s side. Bill’s the best—he just laughed and elbows him back. “I’m always this happy?!”

“Uh,” Bill let his voice trail off, a note of disbelief.

“Billiam!” Richie shrieked. “Art thou suggesting I doth lie?”

“No,” Bill shook his head. “I d-dunno,” Bill shrugged, “You’ve j-just suh-suh-seemed d-down lately,”

Richie really didn’t know what to say about that. Richie never wanted to be the boring one, or the friend who brought the mood down. Richie knew he was naturally funny, but it was still his job to portray that side of him no matter what.

“Down on my knees for you always, Big Bill,” Richie winked. Bill snorted.

His favorite part of the trip came around noon—according to Bill’s watch—which was lunch time. He and Bill sat side-by-side, the endless horizon stretching out in front of them. The boat swaying gently from side-to-side.

Richie had made it his mission to bring more exciting food offerings to their boat rides than what Bill had been bringing all these years alone. That afternoon, it was a plethora of bagged sour gummy treats. The four bags sat in Richie’s lap as he ripped into the first one. Sour candy crystals spilled into his lap and the damp floor of the boat. After popping three gummy’s into his mouth at once, he offered the open bag to Bill who followed in Richie’s lead by shoving a handful in at once.

“This is a lot better than apple slices, huh, Big Bill?” Richie asked, elbowing Bill lightly.

Bill laughed, but nodded anyway, grabbing another handful. Richie took another as well, leaving the bag empty of everything but pastel candy crystals.

“That bag went too quick,” Richie mourned. “There was more of this coke-looking shit than actual candy!” Richie tipped his head back, pouring the candy crystals down his throat.

“Gruh-gross!” Bill said around a giggle, all the while reaching towards Richie to break open the next bag.

“Someone’s eager,” Richie held the bag just above Bills reach, though if he’d stood up, it would’ve been an easy grab. Bill, who was only inches shorter than Richie, struggled for a moment before he did finally stand up.

“Ha!” Bill cackled, plunging his fist into the bag of sour gummies. “I’d tuh-take c-c-candy from a st-stranger.”

“That sounds highly illegal, but could be very sexy,” Richie said around a mouthful of candy. Bill just laughed in surprise.

“Sexy?!”

“Yeah, like the mystery of it all,”

“I wuh-w-wanna know the myst-t-terry behind this fluh-flavor,” Bill stuck his tongue out to show off the now light green gummy that he’d been sucking on.

“Green apple?” Richie supplied, though he hadn’t tried it himself yet. Bill shook his head adamantly. “Okay, uh, fine. Is it pear?” Bill shook his head again, hair flopping all around.

“Then what is it?!” Richie grabbed a green gummy or his own, sucking rather than chewing to really get an idea on the flavor. “You fucker! This is pear!”

“How w-would I know?!” Bill looked exasperated. “I’ve never had a pear!”

“Then why’d you say it wasn’t pear?!” Richie asked in disbelief, his voice raised for the dramatics.

“It’s j-just, its just n-not what I th-thought a p-pear would taste lllike.” Bill shrugged.

“Well okay, knower of all fruits known and unknown,” Richie bowed at him. “What’s this one then?” He handed Bill a light orange gummy, and as Bill popped it into his mouth, Richie did the same.

“Excuse me?” Bill scoffed, rolling the gummy around his tongue.

“This has absolutely no flavor!” Richie whined.

“It tuh-tastes like, uh, like ch-chewed up guh-gum!”

“Yeah!” Richie nodded his agreement. “That’s exactly it!”

“What ab-bout p-p-purple?” After shoving his hand into the bag, Bill held out two purples. They looked promising, as their excess sugar crystals were glittering in the sun.

Together they tasted once again. Richie nearly slurped it in an attempt to truly taste the gummy completely.

“To get a guh-good t-taste, you guh-gotta ruh-really sssuck.” Bill commented, as if Richie wasn’t currently drooling.

“Yeah, your saliva is just there to like, enhance it!” Richie agreed.

“Yeah, but you g-guh-gotta suh-suck and not t-talk.”

“Says the man who won’t shut up!” Richie nudged him with his shoulder, while also declaring, “This one has got to be plum!”

“Suh-sour plum!” Bill corrected, his face puckered. Richie laughed, an idea suddenly blooming.

“Someone should hire us as candy reviewers!” Richie exclaimed, throwing his voice into a deep announcers. “Hey hey hey, welcome to fishing hour with R Toz and Big Bill. Today we’ve got sunny skies and sour gums.” Bill laughed loudly, throwing his head back.

“Oh my god, we sh-should! B-but you muh-made it suh-sound like our guh-gums,” Bill pointed inside his mouth. “were like corr-rroded!”

“Eww! I fucking did not!” Richie shook his head, curls flopping around. “Anyway, we’ve already had our first audience.”

“Who?!” Bill looked around in confusion, as if Richie had been hiding Stan and Bev aboard the whole time.

“And it’s only fair that we let them try one out,” Richie held his handful of gummies over the edge of the boat, and with that Richie opened his hand, allowing the sour treats to fall into the ocean. “For the mermaids,”

“Ruh-richie!” Bill snorted around a laugh. “Isn’t that luh-luh-littering?”

“It’s not trash!” Richie defended, shoving his fingers in his mouth to suck off some of the candy crystal remains clinging to his skin. “It’s for the mermaids,” he added more emphasis to the words, wiggling his eyebrows as he did so. Richie noticed a light blush dusting Bill’s cheek at his words, and Richie has to wonder, had Bill still been thinking about them like Richie was?

Richie decided to throw another one in, but a yellow since they weren’t his favorite. Richie watched as it hits the waters surface, several seconds passing before it began slowly sinking towards the ocean floor. Or maybe into the mouth of a grateful little guppy.

“Whaddya think, Bill? Do mermaids like sour candy?” Richie nudged him with a lap. “Are they slutty for sour like you, Big Bill?”

Bill’s eyes got rounder at that, his blush still present, but he was laughing, too.

“I’m th-the suh-slut?” Bill asked pointedly, gesturing to Richie’s empty bag of sour candy. Richie dropped his jaw open, widening his eyes and placing a hand to his chest.

“Well I never,” Richie huffed in a Southern Voice, fanning himself with the nearly empty candy bag. “Dear me, I am a virtuous woman!”

“Sh-sh-sure,” Bill nodded, his face still lit up with glee.

“Maybe I’ll just never come out here with you again! So I’m not bullied!”

“Says the buh-buh-b,” Bill rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated at himself. “largest bully I know!”

“Teasing is not bullying, Big Bill. It’s teasing,” Richie spoke as if he were talking to one of the children at his games.

“Okay,” Bill nodded, dipping his hand out into the ocean. Richie watched, and decided to do the same. It was cool on his skin, opposed to the blistering heat of the sunshine.

“Y’know,” Richie spoke up again. “Maybe you should give us all another lesson on mermaids, that way we can, y’know, look out for them, too.” Richie knew he was treading on dangerous water. Would the others agree to come listen? Was this humoring Bill too much?

But it was too late now, as Bill’s eyes were wide, blue iris’ bright in the afternoon sunshine. “You m-m-m-mean that?”

“Yeah, why not?” Richie shrugged, hoping he hadn’t made a huge mistake. “Like on Friday or something,”

“I’ve f-f-f seen a lot of n-new inform-m-mation,” Bill told Richie, excitement in his every word.

There was something about his excitement that was too contagious. Richie suddenly wanted to know, and maybe wanted to spot Bill’s mermaid friend himself. He was in too deep.

X

The sun seemed to glitter off the waves that afternoon. As they crashed against the shore again and again, Richie thought happily of that kind of sweetest devotion. Even after centuries of being pushed away, the waves kept coming back. Love, Richie figured, made you do stupid shit. Or maybe it wasn’t stupid at all. Maybe the ocean was happy. Or maybe the sun beating down on him was driving him crazy.

Around him, Stan and Patty shared a large beach blanket and Beverly was just to his right sitting on a lounging beach chair. He could hardly see her face behind her wide-brimmed floppy hat. Its shadow cast down her chest, ending just above her smooth and pale stomach. She whined about her inability to tan nearly constantly, something about her red-head complexion.

Bill had just walked to them from Paradise View, a pale blue book in his lap. He was still wearing his fishing hat, but was in a red tank top now instead of his typical large fisherman t-shirts.

“Billiam!” Richie greeted loudly, causing Patty and Stan to pull away from their quiet conversation. Beverly looked up from her gaze across the horizon, and Richie was pretty sure she was smiling, but it was hard to see.

“Huh-hey g-guys,” Bill gave a lame little wave, before sitting down on the other half of the towel Richie was occupying. “I b-br-brought my b-book,” he flashed the book in his grasps at the others. At Richie’s request, they were all gathered around to listen to Bill’s mermaid tales. Maybe there was a clue somewhere, something that Bill would give away while he spoke. Because Richie had noticed nothing out of the ordinary during their fishing days at sea. No mermaid sightings, from either Richie nor Bill.

“I remember that book,” Beverly sat up straighter. “Very informative, very boring.”

“Its full of g-good inf-f-formation,” Bill defended, though his voice gave away that he still seemed to agree with Bev. “It’s nuh-not a f-fairytale.”

“See? Boring,” Beverly nodded.

“I’m interested to hear what you’ve got to show us, Bill,” Stan spoke up. He looked cool behind his aviator style sunglasses.

“I haven’t heard much about mermaids besides fairytales,” Patty added kindly, but with some excitement behind her words.

“I st-started with the buh-basics again,” Bill explained, opening the book up to a bookmarked page.

Richie found that he’d missed this. When was the last time that they’d all been together like this? Maybe never, he suddenly thought. Or at least not since Bill and Beverly had sorta-dated over a year ago. It’d been awkward between them, but that seemed to have faded away if their shared snorting laughter was anything to go by. And they’d especially never done this with Patty.

"You suh-see," Bill started, his eyes wide and full of a seriousness that no one else seemed to feel. "Mer-muh-m-maids live in luh-lots of-f different kuh-kinds of puh-places. Like puh-ponds, lakes, or osh-oceans," He was gesticulating widely with his hands, recalling information he'd deemed important. "And in the ocean, there-there's c-coral puh-palaces,"

"For mermaid royalty?" Stan asked, eyebrows raised. Bill nodded enthusiastically, as if someone was finally getting it. Which didn't seem to be the case for Stan, more that he was clarifying the lunacy of Bill's claims.

"What if you saw the mermaid princess, Bill?!" Richie asked, playing along with Bill's excitement.

"Fuck off, Richie," Beverly spoke before Bill could. Her voice was harsh and low, as if Bill wasn't as close to her as Richie was. "Don't encourage him!"

"Th-that's what I th-thought!" Bill either didn't hear or chose to ignore Beverly, speaking directly to Richie.

"Okay, Bill, let's say you say a mermaid," Beverly spoke up before anyone else could. "That seems really dangerous for them. So why? Why would they show themselves to you?"

Bill didn't answer for a minute. His mouth was parted slightly. There was a glaze in his eyes, as if his mind was somewhere far away.

"Dude, you broke Bill," Richie gasped loudly.

"Dude," Beverly mocked. "I asked an important question. Why would some mermaid just show up? And why to Bill?"

"I huh-hadn't th-thought about it," Bill admitted. "But it's an imp-p-port-tant qu-question,"

"Because it doesn't work like that," Stan argued. "It was probably on accident."

"Why would a mystical creature of the sea accidently show herself?" Beverly countered. "As humans, we've never seen a good glimpse of a mermaid, but one accidently flashes her tail to some fisherman? Unlikely." She crossed her arms across her chest, giving Stan a challenging look.

Stan took the bait, leaning forward, elbows propped up on his thighs. "It could've been a young mermaid, someone who doesn't understand the mermaid secrecy codes yet. Or possibly a mermaid with an evil vendetta, getting close enough to lure a fisherman with a siren call!"

"But she didn't hurt Bill! She didn't even interact with him!" Beverly shook her head, red hair flipping back and forth. "There's no way it was an evil mermaid, or siren, or whatever," Beverly stopped to take a breath and shrug. "I don't know, but I just really don't think it was with evil intention."

"There's no way you could know that, Beverly," Stan counteracted. Richie watched in awe as the two bickered back and forth.

But it was the look on Bill's face that shattered the enjoyment for Richie. "Uh, guys!" Richie called, hoping to be heard over the two. Because while it may have been a fantastical wonder of fictional right and wrong to Bev and Stan, to Bill this was very serious. "Guys!" Richie tried again. "I thought we weren't encouraging him?!"

"There wasn't a mermaid, Bill," Beverly didn't miss a beat, instead turning to face Bill head on. "They're not real. Remember? We read about them in books, and there was no real evidence that they existed." Beverly looked sympathetic, her features soft.

"Muh-maybe it wuh-wasn't a mer-muh-maid," Bill nodded, looking thoughtful. A collective gasp of air was held by the other three. "But it was suh-something of th-the suh-sea. I ruh-read ab-bout water guh-g-god-d-ddesses," Bill explained. "Ancient civilizations," he pronounced each syllable slowly, so as not to stutter over the long word. "worsh-shipped them. Muh-maybe they're angry now that they've buh-been fuh-f-forgotten,"

Beverly looked just as disappointed as Stan did, and Richie knew he must have. There was no way to get through to Bill, it seemed.

They’d just have to listen, or change the subject. Except, the more that Bill spoke, the less convinced Richie felt about everything. Maybe Bill had seen a mermaid? Didn’t they say that only five percent of the ocean had been discovered? Was it completely wild to believe that maybe there was something else out there?

“I,” Richie didn’t realize he’d begun speaking until the other four stopped talking, suddenly all the attention was on him. Which was perfect. “I just, are we positive that this is actually an insane idea?”

“Richie!” Four voices exclaimed in near unison, though varying tones. There was Bill’s eager excitement, Beverly’s anger, Stan’s shock, and Patty’s mystified uncertainty.

“Right, ‘cause like I’ve never seen a shark and I know they’re out there,” Richie began explaining.

“Bad first example,” Beverly shot back. “Because millions of people have seen sharks. We watched them on the TV the other week or so.” Her voice said she wasn’t to be argued with, that she knew she’d won.

“I’ve seen mermaids on TV, too.” Richie tried again.

“In fantasy movies,” Stan spoke up next.

“But maybe Richie’s on to something,” there was no shyness to Patty’s voice; she was sure of what she was saying, and Richie loved that about her.

“So what?” Beverly asked. “There’s a whole race of fish people that nobody’s really seen?”

“Or maybe they have,” Richie pointed to the book still in Bill’s lap. “But nobody believed them.”

“This is ridiculous,” Stan mumbled to himself, eyebrows clearly pinched. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Okay, so what? We just believe Bill?”

“No,” Richie and Stan exclaimed, just as Bill yelled,

“Yes!”

“What if we just say maybe, and keep looking?” Patty offered.

“Yeah, like we don’t take any stupid chances,” Richie gave a pointed look to Bill. “No chasing mermaids just to get your dick wet!”

“Or to prove something,” Beverly added, glaring at Richie as she did.

Richie didn’t want to admit that this had turned out to be a really great afternoon. It wasn’t very often that they’d all been together like that. Between schedules and dates and jobs, they hadn't been much of a friend group at all. Richie missed Stan's dry-humor, paired with Beverly's energy, and Bill's kind dumbass leadership, and the new spirit that Patty brought.

They were going to find a mermaid, Richie was suddenly sure of it.

X

As he jaunted down the pier, Richie’s ears were still ringing from an afternoon of boardwalk games. The sounds hollering and screeching from each stall played over and over in his mind. The cheers and shrieks of excited children mix with the glee of attraction riders made exhilaration tingle underneath Richie’s skin. That afternoon a preteen had even won the large narwhale plushy.

He was surprised out of his jig at the sound of someone calling out to him from further up on the shore. He broke into a grin, and a dash as he ran towards the voice that was attached to his best friend.

“Wahoo!” Richie cupped his hands around his mouth to further the sound of his voice. “If it isn’t Mr. Urine himself,”

“I brought you food,” Stan smiled, holding a brown paper bag that just so happened to be a near identical match to the Bermuda shorts he was wearing. Stan was the coolest old man Richie knew.

“Staniel, you absolute sweetheart,” Richie reached for the bag, but Stan held it just out of his reach, a small smirk growing up his features. Richie whined, reaching again.

“Guess what it is,” Stan prompted, stepping out of Richie’s reach as he threw himself towards Stan again.

“I’m not fucking guessing! Isn’t it supposed to be a gift!” Richie jumped forward again, Stan still holding out. “Please, good sir, share a bit of your food with poor lil ole me!”

“Come on, Richie!” Stan had a smile on now, too, clearly enjoying the tug-and-pull game he’d created.

Instead of using his voice to guess the food, he chose to bark at Stan as he continued jumping around him. Richie was taller, and longer, but those two things were not in his favor. He was clumsy and lanky, and somehow always managed to stumble over his own feet.

“What the fuck?!” Stan jumped at the loud noises Richie was emitting. But there was a little bit of a glimmer of something in his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to hide it he enjoyed Richie’s antics.

“Dogs have a good sense of smell,” Richie explained, as if it was obvious. “If I can channel a dog-”

“That can’t be too difficult for you,” Stan cut Richie off, but he just continued on,

“Then maybe I can distinguish the scent!”

Richie and Stan played along another several seconds. Because the food had a somewhat salty smell—but Richie can’t be sure that isn’t just the sea air all around them. It’s not until he remembers that these brown bags—that very clearly remind Richie of school lunches of his childhood—belong to,

“Corn Dog Castle!” Richie finally shouted, fingers making purchase on the bag. “You sweetheart, Stan! Knowin’ just the way to me ole heart!” Richie attempted to smack a kiss against Stan’s cheek, but he was just out of reach.

Richie gazed out into the distance, admiring from afar the god awful, bright Corn Dog Castle facade. The corn dog stand wasn’t much, but it stood tall despite itself. Made out of plywood and fiberglass, the cart was surrounded by gaudy hand-painted castle cutouts. There were spiers and pretend brick work, that led up to the turrets. It was exactly what made Paradise Pier a dreamy place; the beauty of the pacific ocean reaching out into the horizon, matched with beautiful architecture and then whatever the fuck the Corn Dog Castle was.

Stan still had that look of _something_ across his features, the one he always got when Richie landed a really great joke, or shared a great bit. It wasn’t disdain or disgust, but something edging along secret delight. Stan could pretend that he was put out by Richie’s antics, but Richie knew different. It was moments like this—forcing Richie to guess the food—that showed how similar the pair really were.

Richie ripped the bag open, and revealed two long corn dogs.

“IT’s almost as long as my cock,” Richie gave an exaggerated long groan when he reached in and grabbed the corndog out.

“I knew it was coming and yet I’m still somehow surprised,” Stan shook his head.

“It’s okay, I know you were overwhelmed with thoughts of my cock. But you’re a taken man, Stan, can’t be havin’ impure thoughts like that!” Richie waggled a finger in Stan’s face.

“Fuck off, Richie,” Stan groused. He pulled away from Richie, in order to walk towards a familiar pair of beach towels. Green and blue palm trees decorated an orange background—the first pair of beach towels Stan had bought in Paradise Pier. They were worn, very clearly well-loved.

“A beach picnic?!” Richie gushed in a high-pitched voice. “If you wanted in my pants all you had to do was ask!”

“I know how often you shower, Richie. Your pants are the farthest place I want to be,”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Richie tsked, plopping himself down on a towel. Stan settled down gently— _like an old man_ —beside Richie. He crossed his sandal clad feet at the ankle, smoothing the fabric of his shorts against his thighs.

He and Stan had had a lot of adventures together, and yet these were still somehow some of his favorites.

Richie ripped the brown paper bag open to grab out the ketchup packets and complimentary bags of potato chips. (Because when the employee at Corn Dog Castle asked _potato chips or apples?_ you didn’t fucking pick apple slices.)

The sounds of the waves licking the shores played as the backtrack to their meal.

“So,” Stan began, after he’d swallowed his first bite of corndog. “You saw Bowers?”

“That was forever ago now,” Richie grumbled, annoyed at himself that he still somehow cared a little bit.

“Yeah, but you’re still upset,” Stan said knowingly.

“Just ‘cause he misses my dick, doesn’t mean-”

“Richie,” Stan cut him off. “What happened?”

“Nothing fucking happened, that’s the dumbest part of all,” Richie groaned, throwing his head back. “It’s just that everyone seems to have it all figured it out, even Connor fucking Bowers,”

“What was that?” Stan raised his eyebrows, clearly unsure if he had heard Richie right. Unluckily for both of them, he had.

Richie just shrugged helplessly.

“What happened that led you to believe that Bowers had his life in any sort of order?” And that was a Stan dig, Richie’s favorite. He chuckled softly, gaining himself a pleased smile from Stan.

Richie doesn’t know what to say, though. He kind of wishes he hadn’t brought it up at all. He’d been vulnerable and upset, but now those feelings had scarred over. Living in Paradise Pier was a dream that he kept living, but when it wasn’t anymore, what then?

Richie was too far lost in his head to make a joke, and Stan would’ve seen right through it anyway. What would be the point? So they sat in silence, eating and wave watching.

“What’re you doing tonight?” Stan asked finally, when it was clear Richie wasn’t going to say anything more.

“Nothing much,” Richie shrugged, the words coming out sounding like _nuffin muff_ since his mouth was full of corn dog. He glanced out towards the boardwalk, and then back towards their apartment building in the distance. The attractions along the pier gleamed in comparison, inviting anyone to an evening of enjoyment. “Why?”

Stan didn’t answer right away, instead bit into a chip and chewed thoughtfully. “I finally managed to get Patty and I a reservation at Triton’s Grotto,” there was a hint of pride and glee in his voice when he finally spoke. Richie gave a low whistle.

“Well isn’t she a spoiled girl,” Richie teased.

“I’ve been on the waiting list for months,” Stan defended. “This was not an easy reservation to get.”

“Well you better take pictures of the inside for me,” Richie said around a bite of corn dog. Stan glared. “I want to know if there really are diamond encrusted locks on the bathroom stalls.”

“There’s no way,” Stan shook his head.

“There has to be!” Richie argued. “That place is _fancy_ ,” he began speaking in a Voice. “The toilets are probably filled with wine.”

“Why would they be filled with-” Stan cut himself off. There’s a clear battle across his features—one that is oddly familiar. “Who fucking knows, I guess.” Richie chuckled, imagining ever being allowed inside. If there would ever be someone who wanted to wine and dine him again.

X

Hours later, Richie had just seen Stan and Patty off. Richie had lived up to his title as best third wheeler—wearing the ribbon he’d made himself that said just that—as he’d walked with the couple up to the doors of Triton’s Grotto. (And whether it was to avoid the empty apartment, irritate Stan, or peer inside the exclusive restaurant at the edge of the pier, Richie chose not to decide.) The pair had looked fancy casual; they’d even gone with a color theme. Richie had attempted to plant wet kisses on both of them before they disappeared inside, but Stan was too fast for Richie’s clumsiness.

Across from Triton’s Grotto was one of the best shops in Paradise Pier, in Richie’s humble opinion; Treasures in Paradise. Every single thing about the little shop promised seaside enjoyment. The old Victorian style details allowed the shop to stand out pleasingly. From the cherubic merbabies adorning the walls and ceilings, to the painting of crashing waves. Not to mention the fairy lights that made everything twinkle. And when the carousel further down the pier was renovated from it’s original state, the store acquired the old ponies. With their chipped paint and rusted rods, the ponies stood proud behind the counter. Plus, the entire place smelled like sea air. Richie was absolutely infatuated with the place. But most importantly, he could find company inside.

“Beverlyyyy,” Richie called as he walked through the doorway. When the girl wasn’t spending her time at the theater, she was picking up shifts at Paradise Pier’s little golden gem. “Dahling, are you here?” Richie accented with a Voice, walking towards the cash register, hoping to find her there.

“Hey, Richie,” Beverly smiled, her short fiery red hair pulled away in sunflower clips. She had a smile that reviled the beauty of the setting sun, or something like that. “What’s up?”

“Can’t a guy just come in to say hello to his bestest friend?” Richie gave a fake pout, all the while tracing over a seashell set on the counter with his pointer finger.

“Hello, Richie,” another voice came from behind his shoulder, causing Richie to whip around.

“If it isn’t the distinguished Audra herself,” Richie teased, waggling his eyebrows at her as he spoke.

“Very funny,” Audra said, though she didn’t look like she thought it was very funny at all. Instead, there was a hint of something in her voice, that had Richie _almost_ frightened—if Paradise Pier store managers under five-foot-four could be scary. Ever since Audra and Bill’s messy breakup—that had followed Beverly and Bill’s weird relationship ending—Richie was not on Audra’s friend list.

“Well, it certainly is just great to see you,” Richie continued on, breaking into a Voice he wasn’t quite sure of. She only rolled her eyes.

“Don’t make a mess,” she said pointedly, before turning away, disappearing behind a display.

“Who pissed in her snow cone, _Jesus_?” Richie turned back to Beverly, speaking in hushed tones. She merely shrugged, popping her bubblegum.

“That’s just kind of the joy of Audra,” Richie made a face at that, tugging on the hem of his shirt.

“Were you third wheeling Stan and Patty again?” Bev asked, pointing to the ribbon he was still wearing. He smiled.

“The look on Stan’s face is worth it every time,”

Bev smiled. “I fucking bet.”

“Are you stuck here all night?” Richie asked, leaning his entire upper half on the counter now. Bev leaned down herself, until they were nearly nose-to-nose.

“Yep,” she popped the ‘p’, morphing her features into something sad as she did so.

“Well too fucking bad,” Richie tsked. “Here, I trekked all the way up the pier to ask you to accompany me on the Sun Wheel,”

“Didn’t you just say you stalked Patty and Stan to Triton’s?”

“Yes, but that’s really not relevant to my current point!”

“Mhm,” Beverly smiled. “Wish I could, Rich. Certainly would beat dealing with prissy pants all night. Maybe tomorrow?”

Richie groaned, before standing tall again. “Maybe,”

He walked around the store for a bit longer, Beverly by his side. Upon his insistence, she showed him the new merchandise they’d gotten in. It was fun to meander through the displays, giggling about bike license plates and baby octopus stuffed animals. They laughed together at a snowman snow-globe that Beverly hadn’t noticed before.

It was just as he was leaving that he tried to beg her to come get an ice cream with him. Despite the look of genuine desire across her features, she elbowed him.

“I can’t just leave on the job, Richard,” Beverly rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling all the same. “Stop tempting me!”

“Fine, fine,” Richie grumbled. “Just leave me to rot!”

“Go home or go bother Bill or something,”

“Yeah, yeah, get rid of me,” Richie did walk towards the shop opening, though, saluting her as he went. “Smell ya later, Smelverly,”

Alone once more, Richie walked down to the beach. The moon was positioned almost directly above his head, following him as he walked across the sand, kicking pebbles along the way. He bent down to pick up a cracked shell he’d spotted. It shimmered under the gaze of the moon. Maybe, Richie thought, the moon liked to watch people collect shells. Maybe she imagined herself picking them up, and adding them to her very own collection.

Richie ducked behind a lifeguard post, and slid to the ground. Each of his shorts were full of sand now. He didn’t mind it anymore. With his back up against the wooden spier, he stretched out his legs in front of him. He counted the waves, finding it soothing as he did so. They rolled in for two counts, before the ocean swallowed them back up for three counts. Selfishly, the beach begged for more; the waves rolled back in.

Out in the distance and from the corner of his eye, Richie just barely saw the end of something shimmer. As if the glittering light of the moon found another shell. Or maybe it was the fin of a foolishly brave dolphin coming too close to shore. From the edge of his glasses he picked up another shimmering sight, so he decided to close his eyes and listen to the ocean instead. Easily, he picked up the sound of laughter from the Sun Wheel, the rattles of the wooden roller coaster, the soft padding of footsteps above.

And then there was something he couldn’t place. He strained his ears a bit, trying to guess what the unfamiliar sound might be. It sounded like a slap against the water, almost like a human struggling to get above the waves. Richie had heard that sound before: scared children who panicked when they didn’t immediately make it to the surface. Concerned, Richie opened his eyes, and jumped to his feet. Quickly, he began jogging closer to the water’s edge.

Richie walks between the pillars of the pier, stationed in the ocean. He brushed his fingers against a column, splashing into the water. He wanted to call out, but feared disturbing whatever he was searching out for.

Just as he was turning around a pillar, eager to find the source, he came crashing into someone. Instinctively, Richie reached out in an attempt to catch the person. His fingers slipped around trying to find purchase, before gripping onto the other’s forearms. Afraid of squeezing the other person too hard, Richie loosened his grip. And then, Richie really wished he had an athletic bone in his body. That ambitious goal had yet to come true, and now this stranger was falling to the sandy floor beneath them. There was nothing Richie could do but watch in horror. He wished he knew how to move his limbs, or what to do with them other than hover in mid-air uselessly.

“ _Fuck_!” The other exclaimed, caramel brown eyes wide and rosey red lips shaping a small ‘o’. Richie was scrambling to his knees, attempting to possibly lift the other back to his feet, when he finally met the gentle, shocked features of a short man. Their eyes locked instantly, blue meeting warm brown.

“Um, hello,” Richie smiled sheepishly down at the man that he was now hovering over. He couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. And did he anyway? Richie searched the man’s glittering caramel brown eyes for something he wasn’t sure of. Because he found confusion, possibly fear, and something he couldn’t place. Had this man been stuck at sea? Why had he been lingering at the ocean’s edge? Except that wasn’t exactly a fair question considering Richie had been out doing the same thing. Which was when he suddenly remembered that he and all of his awkward limbs were still dangling over the man, his own body laying in the semi-damp sand near the oceans edge.

“Are you going to let me get up?” The man asked, seemingly realizing the same thing that Richie had, eyes still wide and locked with Richie’s own.

“Wow, this is awkward,” Richie said, scrambling to get up. “This is your moms favorite position we do.”

“That’s disgusting,” the man scrunched up his features, and Richie wasn’t sure which expression he liked best so far: surprised, or angry pout.

Hastily, Richie leaned down to help him back to his feet. Richie kept a grip on his forearms when the man wobbled slightly on his legs. He felt unsteady, as if he would topple over should Richie let go.

“Are you alright?” Richie asked carefully, concern growing.

“I think so,” the man mumbled, his rosey pink lips bumping against one another.

“Were you drownin’, Lassie?” Richie asked, fear and panic always throwing him into some charade or Voice.

“No?” The man shook his head incredulously, eyebrows furrowed. He was clearly confused, but he brushed it off. (Another _look_ to add to Richie’s growing list of favorites.) “I’m a great swimmer!”

“Ah okay, feisty pants,” Richie hummed with a smile. “What’re you doing out in the ocean so late?”

“I could ask you the same question!” The man pressed back, crossing his arms against his chest, his lips quirking into a half-smile.

“Then go ahead and ask it!” Richie shot back, leaving the other staring at him oddly.

“What are you-” the man started before cutting himself off. “It doesn’t matter why either of us were this close to this ocean at nightfall.” His nose scrunched in a way that made Richie’s heart race a little oddly.

“Alright, Jesus Christ,” Richie threw his hands up in innocence. “I won’t tell you about how I love long walks along the beach!”

“I guess I do, too,” the man replied next, clearly misunderstanding the joke Richie had attempted. In an instance, he turned wistful staring out at the dark sparkling sea. “Isn’t the ocean just beautiful?” There was a hint of _something_ in his voice, matched with the twinkle in his eyes. It reminded Richie of sadness, but it couldn’t be, because this man was ankle deep in the water, arms wrapped around his body, a smile lighting up his face.

“Yeah, it is,” Richie answered hesitantly, still surprised and slightly overwhelmed. “Kind of have to like it when you live so close to it,”

“You have no idea,” the man huffed out in a whisper, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted Richie to hear.

“Well, it’s nice to meet ya,” Richie jabbered in a Voice after a moment of silence. The man turned to Richie then, suddenly searching his features for something Richie wasn’t sure of. “I’m Richie,”

“Hello Richie,” the man smiled at that, seeming to roll the name against his tongue. “I’m Eddie,”

With Eddie’s full attention on Richie, he couldn’t help but search the other man’s face himself. He couldn’t have been from the pier, as Richie had never seen him before. He was suddenly sure that he would’ve remembered the caramel brown eyes that twinkled under the moonlight, and the way his fluffy hair curled at the nape of his neck and the tips of his ears.

It was like this: Richie was dressed in an absurdly bright neon outfit, and his curls were a tangled mess against his head. He’d spent the night feeling sorry for himself. And now?

“I haven’t seen you around, part’ner,” Richie broke out his cowboy Voice, still peering down at Eddie’s curious and gentle features. “Are ye new to Paradise Pier?”

Eddie nodded. “I guess so. But I’m not from very far away,”

“Whaddya mean, you guess so? How can you be new and not new?” Richie pressed, feeling a spike of energy just below his skin, an electricity beginning to thrum.

“I just _am_ ,” Eddie huffed. “I’ve seen it before, wanted to come, and now I’m here.” Eddie shrugged helplessly. “I’m hoping to stay forever now.” Eddie whispered that, like he was sharing a secret with Richie. Richie tucked it against his heart, already knowing he wanted to protect it.

“It’s a real laugh here,” Richie said, wondering if he was being inviting or an asshole. His jokes didn’t always land with new comers. “The suns always shining, and everyone’s always happy,” at Richie’s words, Eddie features turned wistful. He glanced away from Richie’s face for the first time since Richie had knocked him to the ground. Not shyly, but almost sorrowfully.

Eddie looked up again quickly, meeting Richie’s eyes again. Richie wanted to look away—because this was bold and it seemed much too intimate—but he couldn’t find the strength to.

“It’s beautiful here,” Eddie finally spoke, and it was with that same sorrowful voice. And if it weren’t for that, it sort of felt like flirting. What with the intense stare, the step he made closer, and the sparkling ocean water all around them. Richie had to stop that train of thought before he rushed out of the station. Eddie was obviously dealing with something, and Richie didn’t need to become part of it.

“Like a painting,” Richie added unhelpfully, wincing at the brash tone of his voice.

“I’ve been dreaming of coming for awhile now,” Eddie spoke on as if Richie hadn’t, breaking the spell of their gaze again to glance out at the sparkling city just beyond the edge of the beach. They could barely see the beginning of the pier from where they stood, and it was glittering like it always does. Richie knew the appeal; he’d felt it for years and years.

“You want me to show you around?” Richie found himself asking. He could dare to do this. There couldn’t be any harm in this. Even if it was starting to become one of the weirdest nights of his life. Showing strangers around Paradise Pier? What would Stan say? Despite his whirling mind, Richie feels a jolt of something shoot up his body when Eddie’s eyes instantly light up.

“Would you?” He asked, suddenly sounding more eager than anything else. It was as if that lingering sadness had left him altogether, and Richie was all too eager to please, to continue making this boy smile. (Richie already knew he was in too deep.)

“Well, ‘course I would, buckaroo,” Cowboy Richie came back in full force. Eddie only wrinkled his nose; and Richie wasn’t sure if it was in disgust or amusement. “I know this here place like the back of me hand!”

“Why do you keep changing voices?” Eddie asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Don’t ya like it, Eddie Confetti?” The nickname came out before he’d even processed it—as most things he said did—but he already knew it was perfect for this surprise boy.

“My name is Eddie,” Eddie corrected slowly, as if Richie somehow missed it or forgot. But then he was talking again, like that was only a minor technicality. “Am I supposed to like the Voice changes?”

“They’re chuckalicious!” Richie defended, using a word he hadn’t in years. And why he hadn’t, he suddenly wasn’t sure. It felt natural falling from his lips, warming the space that sat between them.

“I have no idea what that means,” Eddie shook his head, looking sort of confused and sort of angry about it. (A combo expression that Richie really hadn’t been prepared for.)

“It’s a word I made up!” Richie smiled. “See, it’s like if you’ve got chucks,” Eddie recoiled at that, looking even more confused than before, and if he also looked fucking adorable Richie was completely not noticing it. “Chucks, y’know, like jokes? So if you’re chuckalicious, you’re really fucking funny!”

“That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever fucking heard,” Eddie’s voice was deadpan, but Richie couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up out of nowhere.

“It’s fucking genius is what it is,” Richie corrected playfully. “You’ll see, Eds,” that nickname came easily, too. Richie loved to give everyone he met a special name. It was like a gift, and this one fit Eddie perfectly; short and cute.

“That’s not my name,” Eddie corrected again, this time a bit more forcefully. “It’s Eddie.”

“Well then, Eddie, come along, the Richie Tozier Paradise Pier tour starts now. Please don’t leave all questions to the end, and yes there will be bathroom breaks,”

Eddie bit at his bottom lip—still looking mildly unsure of Richie—but nodded his head in agreement anyway.

Using his best announcer voice, Richie continued on, "Welcome to the ultimate beachfront amusement zone, filled with thrilling attractions and vibrant graphics. Since you are tonight’s tour guest, you’ve got the honor of picking the first stop of the night,” Richie opened his arms wide. “The world is your oyster.”

“An oyster is a very small creature, you know that right?” Eddie asked, his words falling quickly, almost too quick for Richie to keep up. “They certainly do not hold the world, or even a small part of it,” Eddie paused, looking thoughtful. “I guess they do keep the ocean water healthy, but that still really has nothing to do with being the world.”

“Yowza, my voice hurts just from hearing you word vomit all of that,” Richie took many heaving breaths, pretending to try and catch his own breath in the process.

“Excuse me for trying to figure out what the fuck you were trying to say,” Eddie looked affronted, his nose scrunched up.

“I meant, where do you wanna start?” Richie spoke each word slowly. “Your pick,”

At Richie’s simple words, Eddie’s eyes grew the size of silver dollars, the ones that children find scattered across the beach. He took a step away from Richie, and it was only then that Richie realized how close the two had become. There had been an arm’s length between them. If only Richie could just extend his arm and reach for the other boy’s golden skin.

Richie stopped the thought and followed Eddie from their spot beneath the pier. Eddie was fast walking now towards the base of the pier, and Richie had to jog to keep up.

“What’s that?” Eddie finally asked, pointing out the big Ferris Wheel up on the boardwalk. It stood tall, with a large, cherubic sun face surrounded by golden metal sunrays on the front of it, as well as thousands of twinkling lights strung on the posts of the attraction. It was a stunning sight to see, especially at night.

“That’s the Sun Wheel,” Eddie gave Richie one of his signature looks of exasperation. Richie laughed. “It’s, a uh, it’s a Ferris wheel,” he supplied with a shrug.

“And what does it do?”

“It makes people happy,” Richie supplied, a bit awkwardly and with a lopsided grin. “It’s really just for fun. You ride in a little gondola. It takes you to the top, and then brings you back down.” Richie used his hands to demonstrate his explanation. Richie was already becoming used to the way Eddie’s eyes grew wide and glittery, taking in Richie word by word.

“That sounds kind of terrifying,” Richie wanted to pinch his cheeks, and just barely suppressed the urge.

“It fucking is!” Richie exclaimed. “That’s what makes it so great!” Eddie bit his bottom lip, a smile finally breaking across his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Richie nodded vehemently. “Want to see for yourself?” Eddie’s sweet, expressive eyes illuminated once more.

Eddie nodded his head eagerly, and Richie wasn’t sure why he found him so damn endearing. He looked away, out into the ocean, hoping to ground himself before he got even deeper.

The two walked side by side, though Eddie wobbled every couple of steps. It was sort of comical, the way he had his arms nearly stretched out to his sides. He mirrored a young tight-rope walker, trying to keep balance.

“Are you practicing for the Olympics?” Richie teased, a grin lighting up his features. “Or maybe the Junior Olympics, shorty? Going for the gymnastics gold?”

“Fuck off,” Eddie muttered by way of answer. Richie laughed, feeling it warm him all the way through his belly.

As they continued to walk towards the Sun Wheel, Eddie asked question after question. From ‘what are we walking on?’ to ‘what is that smell?’ to ‘how do Ferris wheels work?’. Richie did his best to answer each one, even though he really had no idea about the mechanics of any attraction on the pier. But even when Richie’s answers didn’t feel good enough, Eddie nodded excitedly. Richie could nearly see the gears moving in his head as he stored this newfound knowledge. Eddie was like a cute little sponge; ready to soak up any new information he could. Richie was way too enamored.

When they finally got to the entrance of the Sun Wheel, Richie bypassed the line completely. Eddie followed closely behind him. All Richie had to do was give Steve (the Sun Wheel attendant that night) his best pout, and the two boys were on the next swinging gondola. Despite there being benches on either side, Eddie slid in beside Richie, his body weight warm against Richie’s in the cool coastal night air. Together, they peered through the caged windows that looked out over the ocean, as it spread out into the distant horizon. Before they even left the station, Eddie was already gripping Richie’s bicep tightly enough to sting.

Suddenly, the gondola lurched into motion. Eddie squeaked, his grip on Richie tightening. The gondola swayed back and forth as it started to ascend. It was a back and forth sway, a movement that rolled Richie’s stomach in the best possible way. The gondola stopped a couple of feet above the pier so Steve can load the next gondola. They were close enough to the pier that Richie could still make out faces of people racing up and down the boardwalk, and smell the many food stands.

“Why did we stop?!” Eddie asked, his voice almost a squeak, his eyebrows nearing his hairline.

“I don’t know?!” Richie faked concern, whipping his head to the side to look back down at the pier.

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?!” Eddie’s voice was a shrill shriek now, his grip on Richie painful. (Richie filed this new look and the accompanied tactile feeling with the rest he already knew he’d never forget). Richie held the joke for just a moment longer, relishing in the closeness of their bodies, before breaking into the laughter that had been bubbling just below the surface.

“I’m sorry! I had to, the opportunity was right there,” Richie wheezed out between laughter.

“Fuck you!” Eddie pushed away from Richie quickly, which caused the gondola to swing at the sudden motion. Eddie’s scream followed his frantic rush back at Richie’s body, attempting to save himself, though not doing anything to steady the motion that had captivated their small swinging gondola.

“It’s okay!” Richie promised, attempting to hold Eddie still enough to slow the gondolas swing. “We have to stop every couple of feet so they can fill each gondola!”

“Why couldn’t you just say that, you asshole?!” There was a lingering mild terror in Eddie’s eyes, but there was also that magical glitter that had been present nearly all night. Richie’s breath hitched, and he looked down towards the ocean again.

“Sorry, dude, it’s like I said, I couldn’t pass the opportunity. It’s not every day you meet a Ferris wheel virgin,”

“Oh fuck off,” Eddie grumbled, though he did lesson his tight grip, a sort of smile settling onto his features.

The gondola lurched again, the wheel finally moving again. Eddie shrieked again, along with a, “Fuck!” But they stopped again after a moment. This time, Eddie leaned far enough away from Richie to chance a small peak out the window. Richie followed his gaze, peering down at the ocean below them. It looked even prettier from this height, sparkling under the thousands of bright lights up and down the pier.

As they neared the very top of the wheel, Eddie’s body became very still. His legs were rod straight, and his head was even still titled to the side. He was seemingly too afraid to move an inch. Which was a shame, because the best part of a swinging gondola was flying back and forth against the track. But maybe it would be something to try another time, if he ever wanted to get Eddie back on the thing again it probably would be best to not ruin it completely.

Richie found himself happy to watch Eddie experience the attraction for the first time. There was something so magical about the mix of joy and fear across Eddie’s face. It left excitement bubbling in Richie’s tummy, and happy memories resurfacing. Richie remembered perfectly the first time he rode the Sun Wheel with Stan. Stan had been terrified to ride it, much to Richie’s pure amusement. He teased him ruthlessly, until he finally consented to ride it with Richie. They sat across from one another. Stan cried the entire way up, and as they made their way down, the pair made jokes at Stan’s expense. Richie hadn’t laughed so much in his entire life. When they got back to the bottom of the wheel, Richie had convinced Steve to let them go again, much to Stan’s abject horror. Richie figured it was for the best, though, since the Sun Wheel was now one of Stan’s favorite rides on the boardwalk.

“Now that the wheel’s full, we take a full ride around,” Richie warned Eddie when they ended their descent. And as they began to ascend once again, Eddie giggled wildly. There was clearly a hint of hysteria, but it was joyful, nonetheless.

“You were right,” Eddie said as they climbed higher and higher into the night sky. “This is a lot of fun.”

“See!” Richie exclaimed with glee, unable to stop his own giggle. “There’s something really exciting even when you’re scared shitless.”

“There is,” Eddie nodded, more laughter spilling from between his barely parted lips. They sounded like ocean waves, Richie thought. Ocean waves that sparkled in the sunlight. And they made Richie’s insides feel like he’d just eaten a sticky cotton candy.

Eddie’s grip on Richie lessened up a bit, but his fingers stayed curled on Richie’s bicep throughout the rest of the ride.

“Want to go again?” Richie asked when they started to reach the base of the wheel. Eddie looked over at Richie nervously, his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “I fucking guess so. Third times the charm?” Richie cheered loudly, whooping and hollering obnoxiously. Eddie laughed; glee stained across his features.

“Steve!” Richie yelled out the side, and Eddie jumped a bit at the sudden rise of his voice. “Stevio! One more time around?!”

“Fine!” Steve’s grumbled response was met with a cheer from the two boys.

“Thanks, Stevie!” Richie screamed back, attempting maximum obnoxious levels. Eddie burst into laughter.

“Yeah, thank you!” Eddie screamed too, his volume level louder than Richie’s had been before him.

“Thanks, Steve!” Richie yelled again, trying to make his voice even louder than Eddie’s before him. Eddie snorted.

“Thank you!” Eddie belted out just as they passed through the loading dock. Steve was shaking his head at them, but he was grinning. He gave Richie a thumbs up, which was, okay. Because Richie wasn’t sure what this looked like, but it wasn’t a date. He was merely showing a scared, possibly lost, and very innocent boy around the pier.

Their third time around the wheel was interrupted by stops every couple of feet, just as was necessary every odd time around. Lurching, then sudden stopping. But, as they neared the top, Eddie got a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He seemed to be weighing out his options, before he bit his bottom lip and leaned forward, pulling Richie with him as they were still connected by Eddie’s loosened grip around his bicep. Richie hoped he got the message, leaning back with all his weight just as Eddie did so. Together, they repeated the motion once again; forward and back. The back-and-forth motion allowed the gondola to begin swinging against the track just as it was meant to. Richie let out a sound of elation, somewhere between a laugh and a shriek.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, Eds,” Richie yelled over the sound of the rushing wind around them. Together, they swung the gondola from one end of it’s track clear to the other in several seconds. It tipped slightly as it glided to the other side, but Eddie’s eyes were alight, and the two were bursting with laughter.

“My stomach is all tingly!” Eddie shrieked somewhere near the base of the wheel. Richie couldn’t help a full belly aching laugh at that.

“That’s what happens, Eds!”

“That’s not my fucking name!” Eddie yelped, but he was still smiling. “I like the tingly feeling!”

They continued rocking and swinging as they made their fourth time around. When they got back to the bottom, Eddie looked a touch relieved. Richie could’ve gone around another two turns. But he figured it might be best to get Eddie back to solid ground. Well, as solid as a boardwalk could be.

They waved goodbye to Steve and made their way back onto the pier. Eddie’s steps were wobbly, clearly still dizzy from the attraction.

“Where to next?” Richie asked, watching Eddie spin around to look at everything that surrounded them.

“What are those?” Eddie asked, pointing at the games and shops that lined their entire right side of the pier. Large stuffed animals were on display, leering people in with a chance to win. Little kids begged their parents to help win them something, and lovers with heart eyes attempted to win prizes of affection. Richie certainly spent most of his time there, watching hundreds of interactions a day that mostly ended in loss.

“Those,” Richie punctuated the word, “are game booths. Play a game and win a prize. If you’re good enough that is.”

“Are you good enough?” The phrasing of Eddie’s question made Richie chuckle; but it was a fair question.

“I’m fucking incredible.” Richie playfully scoffed. Eddie looked slightly skeptical, which was only a bit insulting.

“What’s that?” Eddie turned his body, now pointing a bit further down the pier.

“Those are swings. You strap into a swing, and it spins you around and tilts you out over the ocean,” to properly explain and showcase the attraction, Richie was spinning in place, arms whirling around. He watched Eddie nod in what looked like perfect concentration. Richie stopped spinning before he got too dizzy, fully facing Eddie now. “Have you really never been to a boardwalk?”

“No, I just really like asking ridiculous questions to watch you make a fool of yourself,” Eddie responded, completely deadpan. There was a beat of silence—which was how long it took Richie to realize he was joking.

“Oh ha ha,” Richie shot back. “Eds has jokes!” He reached over to ruffle at Eddie’s hair, but somehow Eddie saw it coming and was out of the way before Richie could get to him.

“My name is Eddie. You’re not the only one capable of making a joke,” Eddie’s got his hands on his hips now, and Richie wanted to look away at just how _cute_ he was. “And no, I haven’t been to a boardwalk. Despite dreaming of being here, I’ve never managed to make it over.” Eddie’s voice sounded suddenly a tinge wistful, and Richie found himself wishing he could grant every single one of Eddie’s wishes.

“Well then,” Richie gave an ostentatious bow. “I am honored to be your guide.” Richie smiled at him. “Ever dreamed of riding a roller coaster?”

“What’s that?” Eddie asked, head whipping around, as if just by seeing one he’d suddenly know what it was.

“You poor, deprived thing,” Richie tsked, shaking his head. He reached across the distance that separated them, grabbing one of Eddie’s hands in one of his own. And Richie clearly had a death wish, because the slide of their fingers together was everything he’d thought it’d be and absolutely killer to his heart. “Do you get motion sick?”

“No?” Eddie’s response sounded more like a question than an answer, but Richie decided to ignore it altogether.

“Well then, you’re in a for a real treat!”

Richie practically skipped down the boardwalk. It was a bit ridiculous, and a bit endearing watching Eddie follow his lead. He was just so uncoordinated, was the thing. Once upon a time, Richie had thought he would’ve won an award for least coordinated person alive, but he may have finally met his match. Eddie half skipped, half tripped beside Richie. His fluffy brunette hair bounced, and he had his tongue stuck out at the corner of his mouth.

The entrance to the coaster was at the very end of the pier. The attraction looped and turned from one end and back to the other. With an upside-down loop, high plummets, and quick twists and turns, the wooden roller coaster was one of the most popular attractions on the pier.

Eddie’s gaze was fixated on the attraction’s track as they walked. Screams and laughter filled the air, whilst blue, red, purple, yellow and green trains zipped back and forth. Eddie was clearly mesmerized, taking it all in for the first time.

“We’re going to get on one of those?” Eddie asked suddenly, whipping around to make eye contact with Richie again. His eyes were filled with something Richie couldn’t place; somehow a mix of confusion, terror and excitement. (Another fantastic combination Richie could’ve never imagined himself.)

“Fuck yeah!” Richie cheered enthusiastically, pumping his fist into the air.

“Okay,” Eddie nodded, looking back to the track as a purple train flew by. It was loud and quick. “Have you done it before?”

“Only a bajilion times,”

“Okay,” Eddie nodded again, a small tip of his chin.

“It’s scary in a fun way,” Richie added, chancing a glance up at Eddie’s face. He was looking back at Richie once again, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

“Okay,” Eddie seemed to understand the phrase intimately, with the way he gritted his teeth and began walking again.

“It’s incredible,” Richie added as he too began walking towards the entrance to the attraction. “The wind in your hair, your arms stretched out above you, the butterflies in your stomach,” Richie smiled. “You’re gonna love it.”

Greta was working the attraction that night—along with Patrick, Victor and someone Richie did not recognize. Greta refused to let the boys cut the line. Richie wasn’t exactly surprised, as the girl had never been extremely kind. Regardless, Richie tried to guilt her into it—“But it’s Eds’ first time, Greta the Great, and” to which she’d cut him off with a glare and a, “He can wait in line like everybody else.” Richie decided it was for the best, though, considering the exciting build up Eddie would get to experience.

As they waited, Eddie asked more questions. Richie did his best to answer, even as they became increasingly more complex. He never thought he’d have to let someone down easily with a, “I’m just not really sure about the mechanics of the track” and “I don’t know the science behind a roller coaster loop, Eds.”

Richie pointed out things he’d noticed after years of riding the attraction. Like the sunglasses somehow stuck on the other side of the blue and yellow striped canopies above them. Or how the metal cutouts that surround the large, round light bulbs make it look like a sun. Together they peered over the bushes that separated the final loop of the cue from the loading bay. And before too long, they were at the front of the line. Richie requested the front—his personal favorite—and they stood at the gate side-by-side.

“You’re not going to chicken out now, are ya Eds?” Eddie had a nervous look etched into his features, looking like he may even be sick.

“Fuck no,” Eddie replied quickly. “I’m excited.”

“Uh-huh,” Richie nodded in disbelief. Eddie either didn’t hear the sarcasm in his voice or chose to ignore it. It didn’t matter anymore, though, when the silver gate flung open, allowing the two to finally board their purple train. They climbed in, and Richie easily pulled his shoulder restraint down, miming for Eddie to do the same. The attraction attendant had to aid Eddie, and then they were being cleared for take-off.

“Have a screamin’ good time!” The attraction attendant—whose nametag read _Brittany_ and whom Richie had yet to introduce himself to—waved goodbye as their purple train pulled away from the loading bay.

“I’m nervous!” Eddie turned to Richie, his caramel eyes alight. He had to yell over the music that had begun playing as they rounded the first bend towards the blast-off part of the track. Richie didn’t have time to think before he stretched out his arm for Eddie to grasp onto his hand.

“Just keep your head back and your face forward!” Richie called back. “You’ll be fine!” The track stretched out before them, the first covered tunnel only feet away. The coaster stopped for a moment, music playing through the speakers by their heads. Eddie didn’t respond, but Richie could see his thighs shaking with nerves.

But before he could call out to Eddie again, the coaster flew down the track. Richie’s loose curls flapped around his face, the rush of the wind licking his skin. He closed his eyes, head resting against the headrest in an attempt to soak it all in. The first thing he noticed was Eddie’s shrieks. He sounds absolutely terrified, and Richie felt a new rush of guilt and excitement all at once.

As they climbed another spire, Eddie’s shrieks took on word form, and Richie strained to place what he was saying. It was nearly impossible to hear over the music, and the rushing wind, and the shouts of the other coaster riders. It was as the train was tipping over the edge, the coaster nearly silent in anticipation of the next fall, that Richie finally caught Eddie’s sentence.

“I’m having fun!” Eddie’s voice was positively shrill, and Richie absolutely beamed.

“Me too!” Richie couldn’t help but call back. “Put your hands up!” He yelled again, and from the corner of his eye, Richie could watch as Eddie did. Richie couldn’t stop his smile even if he tried, keeping his arms standing straight up in the air.

The coaster flew down the hill then, and soared across the track. Everything else was a blur until they come barreling back to the loading bay. Richie’s eyes stung, and his hair was an absolute mess, but his heart was pumping with adrenaline and he felt very light. Light enough that he might just float away.

“Welcome back, screamers,” Brittany greeted them, instructing them to exit to their left.

Eddie could barely catch his bearings as they climbed out of the attraction’s trains. He tripped over his feet, nearly falling until Richie wrapped an arm around his middle, holding him close enough to keep him up straight. (And if Eddie’s soft skin was noticeable behind his t-shirt, well Richie would just have to ignore that.)

“You coaster drunk, Eds?” Richie asked, concern laced in his voice.

“That’s not my fucking name,” Eddie wheezed out, but he was smiling anyway. “What do we do next?” he asked, excitement in his voice like never before. It was as if something had finally clicked for Eddie. Between the attractions and the ambiance, and the lights and sounds, he was enraptured by the joy that was contagious on the pier. Eddie’s eyes were ever bright, his gaze turned fully on Richie. Even as he stumbled along.

Richie looked up and down the pier at large, sparing several glances at each attraction. Before his eyes landed on something sweet. “What about a treat? Feeling like something sweet, Eddie Confetti?”

“I’ve told you, my name is Eddie. Is something wrong with you?!” Eddie looked him up and down, as if he would find an answer to the age-old question somewhere on Richie’s skin. Unfortunately for him, nobody had yet to answer that mysterious question.

“Lucky for you,” Richie laughed. “That question still has no answer. But you’re welcome to share notes with my friends and family.”

“Alright,” Eddie’s signature eyebrow scrunch was back. (The one that pinched the skin between his brows, and curled his lip into a semi pout.) “And yes, I’d like to try something sweet.”

“Ever had cotton candy?” Richie asked, which somehow prompted the shyest Eddie look of the night. (And the look that was definitely in competition for _sweetest_.) He shook his head in decline, with doe eyes and all. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” Richie shook his own head in disbelief. “Whatever am I going to do with you?” Eddie giggled.

“Probably get me some cotton candy,” Eddie smiled, bright enough to light up his whole face.

“Alright, alright,” Richie threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Good thing I know the cotton candy vendor then,”

“Oh yeah? Do you know everyone who works on this beautiful pier?” Eddie asked, a note of challenge in his voice.

“Yes, of course,” Richie answered in mock defense. “And I take pride in that, I’ll have you know!”

“And do you struggle to remember all of their names, too?” Eddie asked, in half-seriousness and half-teasing.

“If you mean giving everyone a loving and thoughtful nickname, then yes,” Richie nodded. “I’ll have you know I’m very social and likeable and the life of every party,” He rattled on obnoxiously, but Eddie’s smile only grew.

“I’m positive that’s not true,” Eddie smirked.

“Well aren’t you flattering?” Richie bowed, but Eddie just flashed his dimples in response.

They walked side by side, Eddie still limping along. Eddie continued talking, prattling on about the sea at night and how bright the lights were. Richie was just barely able to hold in the questions he’d dying to ask. Even only knowing him for such a short while, Eddie had to be the most interesting person Richie had ever had the pleasure of meeting. He was insanely easy to tease, and his excitable nature had Richie enthralled. His luster of the world Richie had grown accustomed to was refreshing. And most of all, Richie just wasn’t sure the last time he enjoyed himself this much. And he wasn’t sure how to tell Eddie that. Or if he even should.

Just as Richie had expected, Andy was twirling cotton candy onto paper sticks, his red and white striped cap atop his head.

“Hey Richie,” Andy had a broad and jovial voice, and was the perfect picture of a Paradise Pier resident. “And hello stranger,”

“Andy Mandy!” Richie waved widely. “This is Eds,” Richie presented Eddie with wide-sweeping hands.

“My name is Eddie,” Eddie glared at Richie, before offering Andy a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Andy smiled back. “What flavor can I get you two?”

“Y’know, Mandy, you really are so great at what you do,” Richie propped an arm on the cotton-candy stand. “Your smile just gives the whole stand something special. You see what I mean, Eds?” Eddie nodded vehemently.

“Oh fuck off, Tozier,” Andy flipped him off, but his smile remained. “At this point I wouldn’t even try to charge you,”

“And that, Andy, is why you are my favorite.”

“Fucker,” Andy rolled his eyes.

“Which will it be, Eds?” Richie turned to the shorter man beside him. “Pink, blue or purple?”

“Blue,” Eddie answered immediately. “It’s my favorite color.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Richie asked, head titled to the side, while Andy prepared their cotton candy treat.

“Reminds me of home.” Eddie smiled smally.

Richie grabbed the treat from Andy and offered it fully to Eddie. Richie was clued in on Eddie’s confusion, by the now quite familiar sweet scrunch of his nose and the furrow of his eyebrows.

“You just pull a piece off like this,” Richie demonstrated, placing the fluffy sugar against his tongue. Eddie followed his lead, his tongue sticking out as he placed the treat on top. Richie watched it disintegrate, and Eddie’s face turn from confusion to joy. Eddie kept his tongue stuck out; the blue sugar crystals visible.

“This is actually really good,” Eddie mumbled, quickly pulling off another piece.

“You doubted me?!” Richie gasped, but Eddie ignored him.

Piece by piece, Eddie laid the fluffy sugar against his tongue. He didn’t stop smiling the entire time, which was quite the spectacle. Tongue straight out in front of a wide smile, cheek dimpled. He didn’t look up from the treat still in Richie’s grasp, instead keeping a fascinated stare.

Andy seemed to find Eddie just as charming as Richie did, for after Eddie had finished off his cotton candy, Andy offered him another.

“You gotta try pink,” Andy said as he handed Eddie the treat. “It’s my personal favorite.”

“Mhmm,” Eddie hummed, making grabby hands for the cotton candy. “Thank you,”

It’s the same as before; wide, flattened, red tongue covered in pink sugar crystals and a nearly giddy Eddie. He even fucking giggled.

“What’s your favorite, Richie?” Eddie asked conversationally, as he devoured the cotton candy.

“I like mixing them all together,” Richie rolled his hands together, trying to mime the process Andy had to mix the three together.

“You can do that?!” Eddie’s eyes got big, and Richie nodded enthusiastically.

“Of course you can. You’ll have to try that next time,”

“Yeah, next time,” Eddie nodded, though there was something bittersweet in his voice. He glanced back out into the darkened sea, looking wistful again.

“Enjoy your night on Paradise Pier,” Andy called to them as another customer came up to the stand, forcing the pair to move along the pier.

Richie and Eddie walked in sync, shoulders and sides brushing every couple of paces. They were heading back towards the edge of the pier, where it met the sand. It felt like the end somehow, and Richie didn’t like the way it made his stomach settle. Should he invite him to come over and have pizza rolls? Or maybe offer to see him home safely?

“Thank you, Richie,” Eddie’s voice was shy again, breaking Richie from his reverie. Richie turned to see Eddie looking up at him, something soft in his gaze. “For tonight. I didn’t know how much I needed it.”

“Oh it was nothin’,” Richie whistled in a soft Voice, flicking his curls out of his face. “It was my pleasure, kind sir.”

“Whatever, you weirdo,” Eddie laughed. “I needed a friend tonight, and you were the next best thing.”

“Eds!” Richie howled. “You absolute fiend!”

They reached the entrance of the pier, the endless sand at their toes, stretching out for miles and miles in either direction.

“I have to go,” Eddie frowned. “But I hope to return soon.”

“For more cotton candy and loving nicknames?” Richie carried on, as if Eddie’s words had somehow bruised his ego.

“If you mean to be name-called by you, I’ll pass,” Eddie was still smiling though, so he couldn’t have been too upset.

“You love them, Eddie Confetti!” Richie exclaimed, pointing a finger at Eddie. “You can pretend all you want, but I can see right through your charade.”

“You continue thinking that,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

Richie laughed, already missing the quick wit and playfully spiteful banter of this new friend.

“Until next time,” Eddie shyly, and very awkwardly, reached over to wrap Richie up in his arms. His tiny body pressed against Richie’s much longer and taller one. (Although he hadn’t considered what a hug from Eddie would feel like, this was somehow everything he could’ve ever imagined.) Richie quickly attempted to reciprocate, but it came out messy and with a jabbing elbow.

Eddie pulled away as quickly as he came, fingers wringing in front of him. “Bye, Richie,” he muttered, before waving and running off into the darkness. Richie took a step forward, as if to follow, before deciding that might’ve been a little too forward. Eddie had wanted a friend, not a stalker.

Concealed by the cover of darkness, Eddie was soon lost in the night.

With his mind whirling a million miles a minute, Richie slowly made his way towards Paradise View Apartments. He kicked sand around his ankles and shoved his hands into his pockets. His curls fell across his eyes, though Richie knew the way back with his eyes closed. With a quick glance up, he could see no light coming from he and Stan’s apartment.

And yet, he smiled the entire way home.


	2. If Wishing Made It So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie did his best to watch Eddie secretly. Eddie was drinking in the sights of the bright pier again. Richie yearned to do the same. Eddie brought out this side of him he hadn’t felt in years. Seeing Paradise Pier in Eddie’s eyes was like seeing it anew. The lights seemed brighter, the attractions faster, the people kinder. It was exhilarating; a fresh start. It was magical once more. Richie hadn’t realized he’d missed this perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I hope you enjoy another trip to Paradise Pier!

Part Two

If Wishing Made It So

On Sunday mornings, Stan was known to threaten Richie’s life and belongings. It was all apart of their script, and it happened for numerous reasons. One of which being Richie’s inability of sleeping in. On those weekend mornings, from the tiny hallway, Richie’s laughter and Stan’s shrill yells could be heard.

The apartment was cast in warm sunshine, and as the sun settled at the base of the horizon, Richie’s eyes would blink awake. On the other hand, if left on his own, Stan could sleep clear until dinner.

After their morning script concluded, the pair could be found bickering over laundry, sitting in front of their television, or getting drunk off rum slushies.

And once the day eclipsed into evening, Stan and Richie would gather in the kitchen to attempt cooking something together. And if they were able to manage not burning anything, or setting off the fire alarm, they would sit down on the barstools at their kitchen counter to eat. But, most weeks, that wasn’t really a possibility. So they’d order take out, and have it brought to the apartment door. It was one of Richie’s favorite nights of the week—an excuse to bug Stan and force his company.

That particular Sunday, Richie awoke to sunrays dusting across his eyelids, streaming through the slightly open blinds. He could feel his body react to being awake; his limbs begging to be stretched and his bladder begging to be released. A groan escaped his mouth as he popped his joints, stretching his arms straight above his body. Instead of getting up, though, Richie burrowed deeper into his blankets, savoring its comfort for just a moment longer.

His mattress sat in the middle of his room, nothing between it and the brown carpet. He lay sprawled out, his body tangled amongst his warm sheets. He pulled his blue comforter up over his face, sighing deeply. He heard nothing coming from the room across from his, which meant that Stan was either still sleeping (very plausible) or was at Patty’s (also very plausible).

After several moments passed, his bladder and inability to lay still for very long finally couldn’t be ignored. Detangling from his sheets was always quite the process, which led to tripping on shoes scattered everywhere. His room was a complete disaster as always. He lacked the energy and care to keep it tidy. Once upon a time, Stan would nag him about it. Lately though, Stan focused his energy on getting Richie to keep the kitchen clean. Well, mostly clean.

After relieving his bladder, Richie padded into the kitchen. His plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips, his holey _Treasures in Paradise_ t-shirt just barely brushing against it. As he flung open the double doors of their laundry room/pantry combo, he scratched the bottom of his foot with the toenails of his other foot. It was like a jumpy-dance that he did each morning. It was followed by raking fingers through his hair and tugging on knotted curls.

He found nothing edible besides Stan’s _sensible_ food options, like oats for oatmeal, and flour for home-made pancakes. All of which would take much longer than Richie wanted to spend before eating. He spied a poptart box, but found it empty upon further inspection.

He glanced at the clock on their kitchen microwave, green numbers reading _7:45_ and decided Stan had slept long enough. From the kitchen, we walked down their tiny hallway; bathroom door straight in front of him, his bedroom to the left and Stan’s to the right.

Sprawled within a tangle of sheets and excessive pillows lay Richie’s best friend. Richie could barely make out his sandy curls, sticking up in tufts, tangled against his pillow. Stan’s more mature bed set was propped up by a bed spring and wooden bedframe, strategically placed right beneath his bedroom window.

Hoping to keep quiet, Richie crept in slowly. He tiptoed against the carpet, before lowering onto his hands and knees. The carpet was rough on his knees, but his motions were muted. His large limbs carried him quickly to the foot of Stan’s bed. At his destination, Richie dawned a goofy face—upper lip curled up, eyes crossed, tongue stuck at an angle—and reached underneath the blankets. He searched blindly, and by feel only, until he bumped against Stan’s ankle.

“Jackpot,” Richie mumbled, grabbing hold of Stan’s ankle with his whole hand, tugging at it with all of his strength.

Richie wished he’d thought to film it, as Stan’s reaction happened quickly. He awoke with a sound that was nothing more than a yelp-shout combination, kicking out both legs reflexively. Richie just barely dodged a kick to the head, going limp and laying flat as quickly as he could. Richie heard rather than saw Stan shoot up in bed, voice calling out for identification.

That was Richie’s cue to pop up, features aligned in his tried-and-true goofy face, his arms arcing in a kind of ‘ta-da’ type movement.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!” Stan wheezed out, clearly still shook from his shocking awakening.

“Didn’t anyway ever tell you not to let your feet hang out of the blanket?” Richie asked, going for a Very-Concerned-Mother Voice. “Monsters under the bed could eat your toes off!”

“Richie, I swear to god, I’m going to kick you out of this room, quit literally, if you don’t-”

Richie jumped to his feet, missing the rest of Stan’s sentence with a yelp, barely dodging another kick from Stan.

“You’re insane!”

“I’m trying to teach you a lesson!” Richie cried out, backing away from the bed like a hopping rabbit. “You obviously don’t know about under the bed monsters, and you’re going to be a prime suspect!”

“Suspect?!” Stan snorted. “Don’t you mean target?”

“God, Stan, stop reading my mind,” Richie shook his head, tsking as he did so.

“Why are you assaulting me at,” Stan looked at his bed-side alarm clock, the kind that looked like it’d come straight from 1989. Stan groaned when he finally processed that it was before eight a.m. on a Sunday. “This is cruel. Why do you hate me?”

“I’ve actually awoken you, fine sir,” Richie started up. “Because I have to deliver some very unfortunate news.”

“What?” Stan asked, suspicious yet ever speaking in his classic deadpan voice.

“We’re out of poptarts, and frozen waffles,” Richie ducked his head down low, pretending to wipe away a tear as he did so.

“Let me just make sure I understand,” Stan blinked annoyingly. “You woke me up at dawn-”

“The suns been up for hours already!”

“Dawn!” Stan shouted back. “You woke me up at DAWN!” his voice rose at the last word. “Because you forgot to go by the grocery store on your night off?”

Stan’s words stilled Richie in a way he hadn’t expected. Last night had been his night off—he’d made a big deal about it while he walked Stan and Patty to their fancy date night. And then he’d bugged Bev at _Treasures in Paradise._ But he hadn’t spent the night alone; he’d completely forgotten that he’d planned to go grab some essentials at _Paradise Grocers_. He’d been too busy having the best goddamn night of his life. Or at least the best one in fucking _months_.

“Don’t bully me for my pea brain!” Richie pointed an accusatory finger at Stan, blowing right past his thoughts of the night before. There was no need to get into that. And what it did or didn’t mean to Richie. (Because Stan would see right past whatever kind of charade or part Richie tried to put on. And Richie didn’t want Stan figuring anything out before he’d even had the chance to.) “Just cook for me!”

“No,” Stan shook his head, and then plopped back down on his pillow.

“Stan!” Richie shrieked, running back into the room and to Stan’s bedside. Before Richie arrived, Stan had pulled his forest green comforter up to cover his face entirely. All that stuck out was a tuft of his sandy curls. “Don’t abandon me at my time of need!”

“I need like two more hours before I can deal with you,” Stan’s voice was muffled behind the blanket. “Or trying not to burn pancakes,”

“At least tell me how Triton’s Grotto was?!”

“Hm?” Stan’s voice was groggy and sleep ridden.

“Earth to Staniel!” Richie nagged. “How was your night wining and dining the missus?”

“It was nice,” Stan grumbled, though his voice gave much more away.

“Nice? That’s it?!” Richie was nearly shrieking again.

“What do you want me to say?” Stan asked with an exaggerated groan of frustration.

“Whoa Stan, I know we’re close, but not that close. I don’t need to hear your orgasm-”

“I’m stopping you there,” Stan shouted, so his voice carried clearly through his blanket shield.

“Fine. But you still haven’t answered any of my questions! Like, how was the food? How was the service? Was your meal served on silver platters?”

“It was really delicious. We both had fish, and they had really unique cocktails,” Stan spoke like he was ready a shopping list, not explaining a night at the legendary Tritons Grotto.

“You’re killing me, Stan! What did the bathrooms look like?” Richie’s voice got stern. “You promised you’d look!”

“The vanity mirrors were in gold frames, and they had these neon blue back-lit lights. The flooring was glittery, and the soap bars were in seashell trays. Oh, and the crown molding was molded into sea creatures.”

“God, just picturing it is making me hard,” Richie did his best groan, although it wasn’t quite as satisfying since he couldn’t see Stan’s face.

“It was really fancy,” Stan continued on, choosing to ignore Richie. “We had a nice evening.”

“Good,” Richie shocked even himself with the softness of his voice.

“What about you, Rich?” Stan asked, sounding as soft as Richie had.

“What about me?”

“Did you have a nice evening?” Stan asked directly, and Richie felt his cheeks heating up despite himself, words and images of what had happened just on the tip of his tongue. Memories of Eddie’s pout, and the sound of his laughter on the roller coaster, and his fear turned excitement burned Richie from the inside out.

“Same as always,” Richie couldn’t help the lie that fell from his lips.

“You just stayed inside?” Stan asked.

“I just kind of wandered the boardwalk,” Richie supplied, as that part wasn’t a complete lie.

“Now that I’ve told you about Tritons, please let me sleep another hour.” Stan voice was borderline begging. “One hour, Richie. Can you leave me alone that long?”

“Oh fucking hell, fine,” Richie grumbled, walking away from Stan’s bedside and out into their hallway, planning to give Stan half an hour.

Thoughts of Eddie plagued Richie for the rest of the day. He couldn’t bring himself to speak the words aloud, though. Richie would finally work up the courage, but the moment would change. The mood felt wrong, and then the lie had been built on, and he couldn’t look Stan in the eye. Eddie felt like a secret, a memory he’d hold close forever. He realized the likelihood of seeing Eddie again was low, and so there was no reason to talk about it with anyone, let alone his best friend. Stan would only feel bad, surely.

That night, they ate dinner uneventfully. Stan grilled chicken on their stovetop while singing along to the music playing from his phone. Richie cut open a watermelon per Stan’s instruction, leaving his fingers and forearms sticky. They ate together out on their balcony, playing the radio and singing along to the songs they knew. Except for Richie that meant singing in Voices to the songs he knew; like Dracula, a Cowboy and his Average Guy Voices.

And later, after Stan had wiped down the counters and Richie had tied off the trash, he slipped back onto the balcony to smoke. He needed to calm his jittering nerves and clear his mind of the swirling thoughts.

Because the more time passed, the more time he was unable to push away Eddie thoughts. And although he’d already come to a conclusion that morning, he still needed to now accept it; he wasn’t going to see Eddie again. It had been a whirlwind night of joy and friendship and that could be enough. It had to be enough. Sure, he’d tragically think of Eddie. That was where Eddie could live on forever; in Richie’s memory.

But there was still something about it that Richie couldn’t shake.

He wasn’t alone for long, as Stan joined him after only a couple of minutes. He slipped through the cracked balcony door. The sun was setting across the horizon, lighting Stan’s face aglow. He slid into his favorite chair, staring off into the horizon.

Stan was bad at hiding his feelings. Or maybe it was just that Richie knew him too well. Either way, the very day that Stan had met Patty, Richie had known instantly that Stan had met someone and that they were special. It was in the way he talked, and the goofy smiles he made, and the glow that he seemed to emit. If Stan were the smitten softy of the group, well than Richie was the defenseless lover. However, he was new to it all, and Stan had somehow seemed to have a grip on it.

“Hey, Staniel?” Richie blew out a puff of smoke, turning to face his best friend. Stan had turned, too, the two making eye contact.

“Yeah?”

“I was just,” Richie stopped himself before he fumbled on his words. He was suddenly unsure why he had thought it was a good idea to get love advice from Stan. “Nevermind.”

“Nope,” Stan glared, shaking his head. “Y’know I hate that! You have to tell me now, Richard!”

“I do not!” Richie pressed his dying cigarette back to his lips, an easy way to occupy his mouth. Stan just grumbled something under his breath, clearly waiting for Richie to exhale a puff of smoke. Richie took his time, waiting until his lungs were burning, before exhaling.

“Tell me now,” Stan demanded.

“Ugh,” Richie gave a low, long groan.

“You can postpone all you want, but I will find out,” Stan turned away from Richie, staring back into the oceanic distance. Richie knew Stan was right, so why defer the inevitable?

“Fine,” Richie sighed. “Just, like, how did you know Patty was the one?” Richie spoke it all so quickly and so quietly, it sounded like one big sound.

“What was that?” Stan asked, turning back to give Richie a _look_.

“Exactly what I said,” Richie huffed, dropping his cigarette to the balcony floor, pressing his heel into it. Before speaking again, he reached for another cigarette and lit it. After he took a puff, he turned back to Stan. “Patty; how’d you know she was the one?”

Stan was quiet for a minute, as if he were pondering the most important question in the world. And maybe he was; Stan was a bit of a romantic. They stood side-by-side in silence, watching the sun slowly disappear. The sky was changing from a brilliant golden yellow, to a burning orange, and then a vast purple as far as the eye can see. White clouds drifted across the skyline, content to blow in the wind. It was calming, though it did allow Richie’s mind to wander once again. And wandering back to thoughts of Eddie are dangerous if he plans to get over this and keep it from Stan. He was unsure if it was the best plan, but selfishly he wished to keep the memories to himself.

“C’mon, c’mon, don’t leave me hangin’!” Richie tried what he thought a mafia member might sound like, breaking the spell of silence.

“I don’t know, Richie,” Stan finally said, turning to give his lingering look to Richie. He sounded mystified and wistful when he began speaking again, “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. It’s just the time we spend together, and how our personalities match. Why?”

“Just needed to know how whipped you are, Staniel.” Richie gave a mocking grin.

“Oh fuck you,” Stan glared.

X

Monday night was a great night to make up missed opportunities with friends. Apparently, Bev had spent her Saturday night wishing she was carefree on the pier, possibly riding the Sun Wheel and eating a swirly ice cream cone. She claimed there wasn’t a bad night of the week to drink. And Bill couldn’t turn down an opportunity to play on the pier, so he’d decided to join their adventure, somehow crazy enough to believe that he was capable of fishing the next morning while hungover.

As he thundered down the apartment staircase, Richie could hear the chatter of Bev and Bill. The sun had nearly set below the horizon, but Paradise Pier was more alive than ever. It was bright and inviting in a way that only it could be.

With what he imagined to be a brilliant idea; Richie tip-toed down the metal staircase in hopes of surprising the waiting pair. He held his breath, and attempted to silence the clank of his flip-flops against the stairs.

“I hear you, jackass!” Beverly called out to him, dashing his plans in an instant.

“Fuck you, Bev!” He yelled to her, still jumping down the final step and onto the pavement just in front of a snickering Bill. “Something funny, Billiam?!” He asked in a shrill voice.

“Oh, nuh-nuh-nothing,” Bill stuttered around his little laughs.

“Okay, okay, laugh at me! Be cruel to one of your truest friends!” Richie wiped a fake tear from his eye.

“Are we gonna sit around all night and listen to your mediocre jokes, or are we going to get sugar high?!” Bev asked, eliciting a high-pitched gasp from Richie and a snort from Bill.

“Let’s fucking go!” Richie cheered, elongating the last vowel of his sentence.

“Swirly cones first?” Bev asked, looking at each of them in turn. After twin nods of approval, Richie linked arms with each friend, and yanked them forward.

Together, they passed through the grassy area in front of their apartment, and then onto the pavement that stretched out for miles. They dodged bikers and talented people in rollerblades, and finally stepped foot onto the base of the pier. It was the perfect night to spend out on the boardwalk; happy visitors, nearly a full moon, light sea breeze, and thousands of twinkling lights. Richie made jokes as they walked, impersonating the Paradise Pier patrons they passed along the way, until Bill was in stitches.

“You’re in a better mood than you were on Saturday,” Bev murmured, the two walking side-by-side down the pier, arms still linked. “You seem happier. I mean, happier than you were Saturday,”

“Oh yeah?” Richie asked lamely, unsure how to respond exactly.

“Yeah,” Bev smiled. “I like this Richie. I missed you hanging out with us,”

“Well, lucky for you, here I am,” Richie did jazz hands, his smile too gentle for what he was trying to portray.

Possibly Beverly’s favorite place on Paradise Pier stood proudly and bright, matching perfectly among the ambience. It was easy to spot, its large neon ice cream cone sign shining from a mile away. A little yellow shack, decorated in happy yellow and white pinstripes, Paradise Cones served the infamous swirly cones. The server produced cones of soft-served vanilla ice cream swirled with your flavor of choice.

For Bev, it wasn’t a hard choice at all. Once her turn came along, she quickly ordered the bubblegum flavor, nearly bursting in excitement. She accepted the cone, the towering swirl nearly as tall as her head. And Richie was ready to make a dick joke, but he was being asked to order.

It may have been easy for Beverly to choose her beloved bubblegum flavor, but for Richie it wasn’t so easy. The long list laminated and taped down to the counter read nearly twenty flavors. From a vast list of blackberry to peach to classic chocolate, he was expected to make a decision. He’d walked down the pier ready to order lime, but with the pressure being applied, he was suddenly unsure.

“Fuck,” he cursed, turning to Bill who was not-so patiently waiting behind him. “What’re you getting, Big Bill?”

“Ch-cherry,” Bill answered easily, because he was a basic man of basic taste. Richie may as well choose chocolate if influenced by Bill’s easy-going attitude. But that was boring, so just as the man behind the counter looked ready to ask Richie to join the back of the line he decided on orange.

With cones as big as their heads in sticky-fingered grasp, the three continued venturing down the pier. The Sun Wheel was next on their agenda. As the bridge sloped down to the pier, large billboards and photo-ops lined one side, the other side a perfect view of the sparkling ocean.

The line for the Sun Wheel went quickly, and before long the trio were loading into their gondola. Ice cream cones had been devoured, although Richie was still trying to lick off all the sticky residue that clung to his fingers. Music played at the base of the wheel, and the three danced in their seats until they couldn’t hear the music any longer. They played I Spy, squinting down at the ground below them. Richie cheated when he spied something grey, which turned out to be a jumping dolphin no else could possibly see again. Bev took numerous pictures with the polaroid around her neck, placing the developed pictures in her tiny rainbow cross-body purse. When they finally touched the ground again, they raced back up the bridge to the Cove Bar.

Bill was fastest, the other two at his heels. Despite the adrenaline of trying to keep up with Bill, and not topple over his long legs, Richie still couldn’t help but just smile. They arrived at the entrance to the sensational bar within seconds of one another.

“You fucking cheater,” Richie wheezed out when they arrived, bent over to catch his breath. “You started early!”

“Did n-not!” Bill shot back.

“Sure,” Richie strung the word out low and smooth, all while Bev requested three stools at the bar. The sun had long since set, the moon shining instead. Lucky for them, they were seated within minutes.

From their seats, the view of the ocean was unobstructed. The bar was situated entirely outside. The circular tables sat underneath a large, ornate, white gazebo. The white wood featured wave-like designs, all the way to the top. Popcorn lights hung from the top of the gazebo and lit the entire bar in a wonderland ambience. At the edge of the bar was a railing; an incredible view of the ocean stretching out as far as the eye could see.

As per tradition, Richie ordered a Neverland Tea—the name hiding the fact that this drink was a delightful combination of vodka, gin, light rum, peach schnapps, midori, blue curacao, pineapple juice and sprite, garnished with a pineapple slice and a maraschino cherry. Beverly ordered a Black Pearl, and Bill the Sun Wheel. Beverly had the bartender take pictures of them with her polaroid; a smiling one, one with silly faces, and another with tongues sticking out.

“Whoa, I’m so sorry you guys, the paparazzi follow me everywhere,” Richie pretended to cover his face, one drink in. Bill’s laughter bubbled from his chest, causing him to spit his drink back into the tall glass. His tongue was stained blue, and his eyes were bright under the many lights that hung above them. Beverly was laughing, too.

It went like this: Richie didn’t remember much of the night, even as he was living it. Long moments passed, where he was laughing and drinking. And then he felt the need to use the bathroom, but instead Bill ordered a round of shots. And on the count of three they threw their glasses back, quickly sucking on the limes placed in front of them. Beverly ordered the next round, and before long the three were gleefully tipsy.

They stayed at the bar giggling until Richie’s bladder couldn’t wait another moment. Beverly teased him, poking and tickling his sides. Which was where the night ended; the three unable to stand from giggling and too many drinks.

They stumbled home, shushing each other all the way.

Before going their separate ways, Beverly wrapped her arms tight around Richie’s neck. He rubbed circles into her back, quacking like a duck for a reason he wasn’t sure of.

“See you tomorrow, you big goof?” Beverly asked, her words slurred by laughter and alcohol.

“Aye aye, captain,” Richie saluted.

She dug into her purse, handing Richie a couple of polaroid prints. He thanked her, before heading up the additional two flights of stairs and into his dark apartment.

X

Midweek-midafternoon, Stan had run to the grocery store, asking Patty to join him. Richie would’ve gone, too, but he’d been finishing his shift at the boardwalk games when Stan had left. So instead of begging Stan for cookies and Sprite, Richie stood in the kitchen pouring milk into his cereal bowl. Sugar cereals made the earth spin, as far as Richie was concerned, and tonight he’d mixed Fruit Loops and Cocoa Puffs.

Richie had left Stan an important list that included alcohol, popsicles, frozen meals, and cereal. And a pineapple. Which felt like a balanced diet to Richie.

Stan on the other hand—Richie knew from past experience—had written up a great list. With input from Patty, Richie knew the list consisted of things to grill, bread for toasting, eggs and of course, alcohol.

The blinds were open, allowing sunlight to stream into their living room. The kitchen counter overlooked the living room, which meant that Richie was being basked in sunlight. Richie couldn’t help but look around at the messy state of the apartment. Richie was by far the messiest, and with little time to pick up recently, blankets, throw pillows, beach towels, and couch cushions were thrown about. Richie and Stan had had a movie night the night before, which meant they threw couch cushions onto the ground like children at a sleepover. This also meant that stray popcorn cornels were strewn about. Bowels were in the sink with ice cream remains stuck to the sides.

Richie plopped himself onto the couch cushions still on the floor and flipped on their television. Giant sharks filled the screen, and Richie cackled in happiness to himself,

“Fucking shark week,”

Entranced by his show, Richie jumped at the sudden sound of Stan and Patty pushing through the front door, each with several bags in their grasps.

“A little help would be great,” Stan grumbled, his wrist looking slightly red under the pressure.

“Looks like you’ve got it,” Richie shrugged, glancing away from his show, pointing to it, “It’s shark week,”

“Really?!” Patty exclaimed, turning to catch a glimpse of the television. “I knew it was coming up but didn’t realize it was this soon.”

“Wasn’t it literally last week?” Stan asked, still attempting to get the groceries into the kitchen.

“Can’t shark week come more than one week?” Richie asked, giving Stan a look of disbelief. “Are you the shark week police now, too?”

“What do you mean “too”?” Stan turned his full body to face Richie.

“Like you’re always policing shit,” Richie shrugged. “Officer Urine’s here for duty,”

“Yeah, okay, ‘cause I’m somehow a bastard now,”

“Touché,” Richie turned back to the show, smiling to himself as Patty abandoned Stan, in order to sit beside Richie. She folded her legs beneath herself on the floor cushion, watching as a shark swallowed a school of fish.

“Are you seriously not going to help?” Stan asked Richie, hands on his hips.

“Sorry, mom, I gotta wait for the commercial,” Richie teased, though he blew Stan a kiss in hopes of making it all better. Stan just rolled his eyes.

When the commercial finally came, Stan had already finished putting everything away. Richie and Patty sat side by side discussing the last several minutes of the show, and how it compared to the last time they’d watched. Stan huffed something unintelligible and went to take a shower.

Half an hour later, Stan came back out, placing a gentle kiss at Patty’s forehead, and a swat at Richie’s head.

“Hey, what the fuck?! Don’t I get a kiss, too, Stanny?” Even with his long arm, Richie wasn’t able to reach Stan as he jumped out of reach.

“You’ll be lucky if I make enough dinner for you,”

“But why would I need that when you’re suck a snack, Stanathon?” Richie cooed, batting his eyelashes at Stan.

“No,” Stan shook his head. “That wasn’t it.”

“You’re right,” Richie hung his head in pretend shame. “I’ll try again next time, Master,”

“Oh fuck off,” Stan shook his head at Richie. “I’m making frozen pizza if you’re nice,”

“Have I been nice?” Patty spoke up before Richie could, a teasing lilt to her voice. It was mischievous and Richie maybe fell a little bit more in love with her.

Stan’s features instantly softened, even as his cheeks tinged slightly pink. He was clearly flustered, while also enamored by this girl.

“You’re always nice,” Stan said coolly, his smile gentle. “It’s Richie who’s a sewer rat,”

“Yowza, Stanny, tell me how you really feel,”

Days out underneath the golden sunshine were perfect in absolutely every way. The warm sand beneath his toes, the shouts of joy from everyone around, the taste of something sweet, the sunshine glittering against the incoming waves, and the smell of the fresh sea air made Paradise Pier. And yet, times spent inside their little apartment sometimes held that same kind of magic.

Stan squished onto the floor in between Patty and Richie, tucked Patty into his side, and nudged Richie with his hip several times in a row. Which in their friendship meant something between ‘fuck you’ and ‘im sorry for being bitchy’. Which was something wonderful in of itself, Richie thought. Secret hip language. Secret hip language that no one else knew about, that nobody else could possibly decode. Richie hipchecked him, which meant something like ‘you’re my best friend fucker’.

Later, Stan loaded each of their pizza’s onto plates they’d picked up from a secondhand store. They were a weird yellow color and had palm trees painted on them. Patty poured them each a glass of mango vodka, and the three settled onto the floor once more.

Hours later, from his warm place in the bathtub, Richie was finishing his second glass of Stan’s favorite wine—he’d finished his first glass some time ago and then screamed like a fire alarm until Stan came running in afraid that Richie was in trouble; instead Richie blinked his eyelashes until Stan agreed to refill the glass—settled underneath the bathtub bubbles. Three golden bath bombs fizzed in the water. Candles sat on the counter, wafting the room in a coconut, pineapple heaven.

Richie could easily hear Stan and Patty’s music playing from the other room, setting the tone. His muscles relaxed underneath the water, and his mind whirled just a bit slower. The alcohol made his chest warm, and mind fuzzy. His limbs were light, and his cheeks stained pink.

He sang along to the music he could hear, and made up his own lyrics when a song was too soft to properly hear. It felt kind of like paradise; pruney fingers and all.

Despite his attempts to cover the overflow drain, the bathwater slowly leaked out. Leaving the tub emptier every minutes. Richie wasn’t in a state of mind, though. Instead, he sipped the rest of his wine glass and waited.

It was easy to lose track of time like this. It could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours by time Richie finally stood up. He stretched his arms above his head, and nearly knocked over his empty glass.

He left the bathroom wrapped in his fluffy pink robe. The apartment was dark, though he could hear Stan and Patty softly talking from inside Stan’s bedroom. The door was open just a crack, making it possible for Richie to barely make out their conversation.

“Don’t. Things are great,” Stan answered to something Richie hadn’t heard.

“Yeah, they are,” Patty’s voice was full of so much happiness; Richie’s chest felt warm. He couldn’t help but lean against the door frame.

“Goodnight,” Richie called, voice loud and shaky. From the wine. Definitely.

But he’d be lying if he said something wasn’t missing, and gaping, and wishing inside of him.

“Night, Rich,” Stan called back, sitting up and offering a small smile in the dark.

Richie smiled back before turning back to his own room.

X

The rest of Richie’s week felt fairly boring. Or as boring as a week in Paradise Pier could be. Sometimes, the daily grind, no matter how exciting, just seemed to drag on. Richie focused on his mermaid quest with Bill, and making it to work on time, and savoring time spent alone with Stan. Everything continued to move along as it always had. And yet, Richie felt that something was different. It was as if he was carrying a large secret inside; holding it hostage from everyone around him. The entire week passed, and Richie had yet to say a thing about Eddie.

And why hadn’t he?

After spending months of what felt like each day was the same, Richie had eagerly awaited a sign. His parents had given their sign; that dental school would be beneficial in giving him a life and a career. And then last week had happened, and here Richie was wondering if Paradise Pier also had a sign to give him.

Richie came close to telling Bill about his very eventful Saturday night while out on his fishing boat, but the words just wouldn’t form. As they laughed about something ridiculous, Richie burned with the memory of Eddie’s first time trying cotton candy, or how he pouted when Richie said something especially confusing. And when Bill mentioned the Sun Wheel, all Richie could imagine was Eddie’s bubbling laughter.

Something about Eddie was special, that much Richie had decided. He’d also decided that he was quite the attention seeker, and probably a bit clingy. (Stan would’ve scoffed had Richie voiced that realization. Stan had been saying those things since they first met. Wherever Stan was, Richie wasn’t too far behind.)

Just as Richie had realized that he may never have the opportunity to see Eddie again, Richie wanted to meet Eddie again. When they’d parted last week, Eddie had seemed sure they’d get to enjoy the pier together again, but Richie wasn’t so sure anymore.

A part of Richie wondered if he hadn’t just dreamt that night altogether.

A week had passed, and Richie knew it was time to move on.

That Friday night had to be different, Richie told himself, as he walked towards the beach from Paradise View Apartments. Whether he met an incredibly adorable, pouty, spazz of a person that night didn’t matter—or at least that was what Richie was attempting to teach himself. That Friday, at that beach party, Richie was determined to enjoy himself without thoughts of a certain mysterious Eddie.

The beach looked amazing in Richie’s humble opinion. Granted, the moonlight always made the waves sparkle, and the joyous shouts of friends always made the beach seem alive, but somehow it felt different that night. The waves obeyed their lunar queen, coming back to kiss the shore over and over again.

Tiki torches lay spaced out all across the beach, poles shoved deep into the sand. Food stands lined the edge of the sand, bright lights and neon signs inviting customers to come and enjoy. The night was gearing up to be something special, seeing as Stan had already bought Patty cotton candy, and a large plate of funnel cake to share. Bill had a popsicle, while he and Beverly were already sipping down a concoction with peach schnapps called ‘Sex on the Beach’.

Richie could see the telltale signs of a drunk Bill; the infamous sparkle in his eyes, and the slight swaying of his body. Stan was already buzzed, and it seemed that the rest of the crowd wasn’t far behind. Bodies bounced and jumped together by the large speakers. Loud laughter and conversation could be heard from the food trucks. And Richie felt oddly disconnected from it all. His limbs felt heavy. Kay’s call to, “Come dance, Rich!” was met with a shake of his head, and a, “Maybe later, KK.”

Richie found himself ordering shots from a truck, though something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye he swore he noticed someone familiar. He couldn’t place his finger on whom it might be; his drunken, foggy mind making it harder to pull memories back up to the surface. When he couldn’t place it, he instead turned back to the server. He handed over several crumpled dollar bills and accepted the tiny glass, tipping his head back. The cold liquid burned down his throat, and seemingly lit his veins on fire for several seconds. He eagerly paid for another round, as well as a round for Bill and Bev.

The dimly illuminated beach was full of bodies, making it nearly impossible to spot any of his friends. As he wandered through sweaty bodies, he considered drinking the round he’d bought for them himself. His height didn’t even seem to be helpful. As he bounced on the balls of his feet, attempting to get a better view, Richie’s peripheral view caught the mystery person once again. Curiosity winning, Richie turned his body completely, only to come face-to-face with a dream.

“Eddie Confetti?!” Richie’s head was swimming. “I thought you were a dream.” The words tumbled out of his mouth without even a thought. Richie cursed himself, but it didn’t make the words any less true.

“A dream?” Eddie looked confused, looking Richie up and down with an arched eyebrow. And seemingly just catching up, he added on a, “That’s not my fucking name,”

“Yeah, right, uh. No, no, uh,” Richie could feel his large smile tipping up his features. “What’re you doing here?” Which, smooth.

“I saw the sparks of light way up in the sky,” Eddie smiled shyly. “I, uh, I’ve been wanting to come back.”

“Fireworks?” Richie supplied, tilting his head to the side. Eddie nodded. “Right, right,” Richie swallowed, suddenly wishing he wasn’t already drunk. “Oh, you want one?” Richie offered the shot to Eddie, just remembering he still had the little glass in his grasp.

“Sure,” Eddie nodded, dipping his tongue into the amber liquid and making a face. Richie giggled.

“Drink it, Eds,” Richie hummed, watching his red tongue in awe.

“Not my name,” Eddie put the glass to his lips. He closed his eyes for a moment, before grimacing up at Richie.

“You like it?” Richie asked, enamored by the boy before him. It was like everything he’d forgotten about him was being reintroduced; like his pouty eyebrows, and how tiny short he was. He’d spent the week telling himself that Eddie had been a mirage; but here he was.

“I think so,” Eddie glared down at the glass, as if it would somehow refill and apologize all at once.

“Lemme guess,” Richie cleared his throat, using a scientist voice, “You’ve never had anything like it?”

“Maybe,” Eddie pointed to the other glass still in Richie’s grasp. “Who’s that one for?” The burn of the alcohol as it slid down your throat was obviously not much of a problem for Eddie.

“You want it?” Richie offered the glass, doing his best to not slosh it too much.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie played nonchalant, but downed the drink quicker than the first, his caramel eyes alight. “I like this party,”

“It’s pretty cool,” Richie agreed, eyes catching on a tiki lantern, illuminating the cool sea night. “It’s good for the locals, and it also brings in more tourists,”

“I see,” Eddie nodded, though his confusion gave away his true thoughts.

They stood facing each other for a long moment. Eddie’s caramel eyes were just as warm and inviting as Richie had remembered them. The curled ends of his hair just as _cute_ as he’d imagined. Eddie’s open button up shirt was cream, and hung much too large on his narrow shoulders. Richie felt suddenly pressured to soak in every detail—like how he bounced on the heels of his feet constantly, or the shape of his button nose—knowing it was a miracle that they were both here together once again.

But Richie’s study session was cut short, as the music changed, and Eddie’s eyes lit up. The tempo was upbeat, and the crowd around them began cheering and jumping. They were jostled by the sudden change of movement. Eddie looked around them, eyes darting here and there and everywhere.

Just like before, Eddie’s brilliant curiosity lit something alight inside Richie’s chest.

“I really like this music,” Eddie yelled to be heard, all the while reaching up to adjust a strand of his hair.

“Yeah, me too,” Richie yelled back, biting at his bottom lip. His mind was a tug of war, a ‘will-he-won’t-he’ kind of moment. But he had to take the leap of faith. “Wanna dance?” He shouted, wincing at the gruffness of his voice, words chocking out around his nervousness. His palms were sweaty, and his heart was thumping. But Eddie’s eyes were sparkling; lighting up again. He nodded, his hair bouncing atop his head.

Richie grabbed Eddie’s wrist and pulled him farther into the crowd. Eddie steadied himself as they walked, teetering as he went along. Eddie’s smile was brilliant, though he looked tentative as they found an open spot amongst the bouncing people. Locking eyes with Eddie, Richie began jumping up and down, swaying his hips and waiting for Eddie to join in. He was still looking around, watching the other party guests bounce along to the beat. It was only another moment, though, before Eddie was mimicking everyone’s jumping pattern. Eddie didn’t let go of Richie, merely yanked on Richie’s arm to bring him up and down with him. Richie felt hypnotized, unable to look away from Eddie; whose eyes were closed, hair bouncing all around. He was picturesque.

As the second verses loud crescendo faded into the chorus, Richie tracked a visual change in Eddie. It was like he was getting braver as the song progressed. Richie did his best not to jump in surprise when Eddie’s cool hands brushed the exposed skin at Richie’s hips. But he wasn’t sure how to disguise his gasp-snort. Though Eddie either didn’t notice or didn’t care, as he continued to glance at the dancers around them while circling his hips. Every beat or so, Eddie’s hips brushed against Richie’s own, leaving Richie gasping for patience, pulling his thoughts together as best as he could. It was captivating; pure electricity.

Richie did his best to lose himself in the moment, breathing in the fresh ocean air, attempting to focus on his senses. The music licked up Richie’s body, hyping him up. With lyrics boasting about the ocean, he could nearly feel his heart beat to the thump of the bass. And his skin still tingled from where Eddie’s hands were still placed. Shouts of joy and excitement were all around them, in full stereo volume. The taste of peach schnapps was still fresh on his tongue. His hip continued to press against Eddie’s as they forced their way towards the middle of the crowd. People were all around them, which only hyped Richie up more. Eddie was bopping his head to the beat, continuing to knock his side against Richie’s, leaving his skin alight at the touch, responding in kind.

Each new song brought out on new, interesting dances between the pair. Because Richie still hadn’t mastered the stanky leg—Stan said it looked like he was falling after being shot—which made him less than an ideal teacher. Regardless, Eddie attempted to copy. Richie’s chest was full of laughter, unable to keep from smiling.

Three songs later and they were waving their arms up and down, shimming from side to side, Richie attempting to sing along, followed by Eddie’s laughter.

“I’m having fun!” Eddie shouted at him a couple songs later. His face was plastered in a large, goofy smile. His green eyes were glossy and filled with happiness. Glee even. Richie was entranced.

“I can tell!” Richie yelled back, not even attempting to stifle his goofy grin.

“What do you mean?” Eddie looked slightly affronted.

“I mean that you’re dancing and hopping and shit! It looks like you’re having fun!” Richie wiggled his arms above his head as he spoke, hoping to keep their energy up.

“Well then you look like you’re having fun, too!” Eddie replied, a mischievous glint to his eyes. “Because you look ridiculous!”

“Wow, thanks, Eds!” Richie placed a hand over his heart. “You’re so sweet to me!”

“My name is Eddie, you moron!” Eddie shook his head in disbelief, though he was smiling.

“Well it’s nice to meet ya,” Richie tipped an invisible cowboy hat to match his Voice, and laughed when Eddie just looked mostly confused.

“Okay, weirdo!” Eddie turned to face towards the crowd again, his hair wet from sweat at his hairline. He was a sight that Richie couldn’t look away from, especially as he connected back with the music. Richie could see the actual moment it happened; the way Eddie magically clued into the music.

Richie wanted to ask Eddie a million questions, but it was too loud and the moment was all wrong. If Eddie weren’t having the time of his life, Richie might’ve selfishly whisked him away to somewhere quiet to create a moment that was _theirs_. Somewhere where the music didn’t feel like electricity, and the moonlight like magic.

Richie lost track of time as the night waned on. As he decided to follow Eddie’s lead and just forget the myriad of thoughts swarming his mind, he could live in the moment they shared right there. Neither were great dancers, Richie hated to admit, but they were full of happiness and confidence. Richie listened and danced and sang along as the DJ played song after song. Sometime after _Adore You_ and _The Ocean_ played, Eddie looked back up at Richie, and gestured towards the food carts across the sand. Richie nodded enthusiastically, pulling away from the pull of the music. They shimmied together through the crowd of people.

As they dodged dancing couples, and jumping circles of friends, Richie reached out his arm—and without thinking further—placed it at the small of Eddie’s back. He could feel Eddie flinch at the touch—which he ignored—leading him towards the edge of the makeshift dance floor. Eddie’s skin was warm beneath the layer of his shirt, and Richie was grateful for the separation of skin because his hands were clammy with sweat now.

Richie did his best to dismiss all thoughts that weren’t related to getting away from the dance floor. (Including how this was the closest they’d been; this intimate touch. One that Richie was definitely overthinking. But it was difficult not to, as he dreamed of this person for an entire week. He’d missed the easy nature of their interactions, and the aura of joy that surrounded Eddie at every new thing surrounding him.)

Eddie’s voice pulled Richie from his thoughts, as he gestured towards the food stand and then his throat, saying, “I’d like another drink. I feel dry,”

“Alrighty, Eds,” Richie nodded, glancing around to reorient himself to his surroundings. There was _Paradise Sips_ and _Dreamy Drinks_ and both were fine options.

“That’s not my name,” Eddie grumbled, glaring harmlessly. He followed Richie’s line of sight, before gasping loudly. “I want one of those!” Eddie pointed to a large, blue drink another party goer was holding. “It’s got that cotton candy stuff on top!”

“Oh, a cotton candy lemonade?” Richie asked.

“That’s a very convenient name,” Eddie commented, though he was nodding anyway, an overly eager look lighting up his features. “It sounds amazing,” his voice had gone whimsical like it constantly did. Somehow his voice seemed to be laced in a tinge of magic. Sometimes, when Eddie spoke, it sounded like a song. Lit up in melodies of excitement, and harmonies of delight. Or maybe Richie was going insane.

“They are amazing,” Richie agreed, leading Eddie to one of the many food displays set about the beach. “You’re gonna love it, Eddie Confetti,”

“I was hoping you’d forgotten that name,”

“Then why are you smiling?” Richie’s grin lit up his features, but Eddie ignored the comment and the smile, instead walking back towards their stand of interest. Richie shooting forward to beat Eddie, jumping into the back of the line with Eddie close behind.

“I won,” Richie teased, smiling down at Eddie who just rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t a race,”

“That’s what a loser would say,” Richie tsked.

“You’re a child,”

“Possibly,” Richie agreed. “But it beats being a cranky, crotchety old person.”

“Are you saying that all adults are old people?” Eddie asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Richie shrugged. “I guess so,”

“Maybe they’re just mature, and you have no idea what that’s like,” Eddie shot back, but there was still that light smile tugging at his face, leaving Richie wanting to squeeze his cheeks at how damn cute he was. He settled for a shocked gasp, placing his hands at his chest, covering his heart in mock hurt.

“Edward!” Richie sighed dramatically. “How could you be so cruel?”

Eddie was full on smiling now, though Richie was sure he would deny it. “Although Edward is technically my name, it’s still not the name I’ve asked you to call me. Richie, you sure you’re alright?” If Richie wasn’t mistaken, there was a teasing note in Eddie’s voice. It was fucking adorable.

But Richie couldn’t respond, because they were at the front of the line and Eddie was ordering two sweet treats. When the total was read off, a panicked look crossed Eddie’s features. He turned to Richie, question in his eyes, leaving Richie to scramble for his wallet. He handed over several dollar bills, grabbing the two drinks in exchange.

“No need to thank me,” Richie spoke before Eddie could. “It’s not every day I get to buy drinks for short, feisty men,”

“I am not!” Eddie squawked. Richie had to laugh at the scrunch of his features, and slight pout on his lips. Richie never wanted to look away. Instead, he offered Eddie the other drink, clinking his against it once Eddie had taken hold. Eddie’s look of confusion flashed across his features for a moment, but soon disappeared.

Eddie didn’t hesitate after that, quickly biting off a piece of cotton candy from the side. His eyes lit up in that familiar awe that Richie was so enamored by. His eyes portrayed everything he wasn’t saying. He quickly took another bite, somehow melting Richie’s heart until it felt like mush in his chest. Very happy mush.

Eddie slurped at the lemonade, eyes closed in drink-ecstasy. He was swaying from side to side, though he didn’t seem to be aware of his slight off-balance. Richie was well-aware of his clumsy nature, and the two shots he’d already consumed, which had to play into his inability to stay still on his own two feet. Sweet little noises escaped his lips as he continued to devour his treat.

Richie was much too caught up in the warmth radiating off of Eddie, and the way the cool drink slid down his throat, to even notice Stan and Patty approaching the two.

“Having fun?!” Patty’s cheeky voice startled Richie, heat rising at the back of his neck.

Richie whipped around. “Patty-cakes!” He avoided the question in favor of wrapping her and Stan in a hug. Stan flinched, ducking under Richie’s arm to avoid the interaction. His cheeks were mottled pink, no doubt already inebriated.

“I’m Stan,” Stan was facing Eddie, who had cotton candy crystals coating his lips, and a dark blue tongue. (Why did Richie find that so endearingly adorable?) “It’s nice to meet you,” Stan was ever the adult in any situation, somehow sounding forty-five.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Stanley,” Richie mocked him, doing his best to sound like a middle-aged accountant. Stan ignored him.

“I’m Eddie,” Eddie gave a smile, his blue dyed tongue peaking out. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“And I’m Patty,” she was still wrapped up underneath Richie’s arm. Her curly brown hair was pulled up in a bun atop her head, a mesh kimono resting atop her shoulders, a pair of large, wooden earrings clanking against Richie’s body.

“Hello, Patty,” Eddie smiled.

“And I’m Richie, who has never met these two weirdos in his life.” Patty laughed, and if Richie knew her well enough—and he did—she was rolling her eyes but in a loving way, as she would’ve defended.

“No ones falling for that,” Stan said, just as Eddie snapped back,

“You just called her one of your ridiculous nicknames!”

“It’s not so bad,” Patty smiled up at Richie, though she did elbow him in the stomach as she did so.

“See, Eds!” Richie exclaimed, loud enough to draw looks from those around them. “Somebody appreciates my love and creative genius!”

“That’s not my name,” Eddie said, though this time it was directed towards Stan and Patty, as if they would somehow be confused.

“Richie’s the worst,” Stan nodded, looking sympathetic.

“Do not conspire with him, Staniel!” Richie shrieked, jumping away from Patty to slap a hand over Stan’s mouth. “Hush, you heathen!”

Stan fought back, squirming away easily. Richie may have been longer and taller, but Stan was stronger.

“You fucking-” Stan cut himself off, spluttering. “Eddie save yourself before it’s too late,”

“Don’t lie to him, Stan the Man,” Richie tutted. “You love me,”

“Maybe,” Stan responded, though he looked anything but agreeable. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Mighty-fine job, Ole Chaps,” Richie whistled in his Prospector Voice. “Ye found yer gold!”

“We wanted to make sure you were okay,” Stan continued on, as if Richie hadn’t spoken at all. But Richie was pleased to see a look of amusement cross Eddie’s features.

“I’m right as rain!” Richie hollered, fueled on by Eddie’s delight.

“And buzzed,” Stan mumbled, earning him a wink from Richie. “Traumatizing poor Eddie,”

“I am not! We’re having fun, right, Eds?”

“That’s not my fucking name,” Eddie grumbled, giving him a glare. And then he didn’t continue, didn’t answer Richie. Which was new. Eddie always corrected then plowed on.

“Blink twice if Richie’s keeping you as hostage,” Patty said to Eddie around a giggle.

“Traitor!” Richie yelled pointing an accusatory finger at her, as Eddie said,

“I’m trying a new drink. Have you ever had one of these melty-treat things?” He gestured towards the nearly empty glass in his grasps.

“Yeah, it’s great, right?” Patty smiled, though Stan shot Richie a confused look that Richie chose to ignore.

“They’re like magic,” Eddie said, and Patty nodded her head in agreement.

“Hey, wanna go check out some other booths, Eds?” Richie spoke before anyone else could. Ignoring Stan would be difficult if they stood next to one another. Stan didn’t like feeling out of the loop. Especially when it came to Richie.

“Oh sure,” Eddie nodded, waving goodbye to Stan and Patty as Richie began walking in a different direction. Richie didn’t look behind to see if either waved back.

“Are they your friends?” Eddie asked as they walked, all the while continuing to lap at the cotton candy.

“Yeah,” Richie nodded, glancing down at Eddie. “I live with Stan, and he’s dating Patty. They’re both pretty great,”

“They seemed nice,” Eddie remarked.

“They’re one of the reasons I love it here,” Richie said, glancing at the pier and the full moon and the endless sand around them. He loved this place, but the people made it worth staying.

“I understand,” Eddie nodded solemnly. “Back home I have important people. They make it bearable.”

“You really don’t like it there?” Richie had heard very little about Eddie’s home, but the more he did, the more miserable it sounded. No cotton candy, no pier, nobody to make it feel like home?

Eddie was quiet for a moment. Richie worried his big mouth had gone too far again, hoping he hadn’t asked a question Eddie wasn’t comfortable answering.

“I just feel,” Eddie began a moment later, eyes trained out at the ocean. “Sometimes I feel like I’m in a prison back home. My mother has these, these expectations. And she doesn’t care who she hurts or how anyone else feels about her decisions. She’s smothering and,” Eddie stopped abruptly, taking a long sip of lemonade, gazing still out to sea. “She’s selfish,” Eddie slowed down suddenly, no longer talking with his free hand, now just slinging it back and forth. His eyes are still furrowed though, and lips curled in a frown. “I long for freedom,”

Richie was stunned silent, unsure what to say. He’d come to Paradise Pier to escape, to live underneath the brilliant sun, to make new friends. His parents supported him and loved him, even if they wanted more for him. But maybe he still knew exactly what Eddie meant.

“I feel like a great big fish, stuck in a bowl,” Eddie continued. “I can’t move anymore.”

Richie fumbles to find the right words, searching for the words to make Eddie feel heard and understood. “That sounds fucked up,”

Which maybe wasn’t the most eloquent thing to say, but Eddie just nodded his silent agreement.

“And the people here,” Eddie started again. “They’re so wonderful. They don’t know it, but they are. They’re free and they can move again and start over.”

Richie shrugged. “People are people.”

“Maybe,” Eddie sighed, suddenly looking at Richie. “But I’ve never met anyone who compares,”

“And you’ve gotten all of that just after a couple of nights?” Richie challenged, and Eddie’s cheeks pinkened slightly.

“I’ve been looking over this place for a long time. I told you, I’ve been wanting to visit for a long time.” Eddie’s ‘ _I told you so’_ is accompanied by a look and a long hand gesture, palm arcing above his head. Richie pushes at his glasses to avoid doing or saying something he may regret.

When Richie didn’t talk again, Eddie asked in a tentative voice, “Do you like it here as much as you thought you would? Like, after you moved in and spent some time, was it still what you thought and wanted?”

They had nearly made it to the pier now, making similar strides towards the beloved boardwalk. Richie let the question roll through his mind—which was mostly silly considering he already knew the answer—before finally answering, “Yes,”

From the corner of his eye, Richie watched Eddie’s face light up. It was the answer Eddie had been hoping for. Richie’s answer proof that one could make a home somewhere far and new.

Richie did his best to watch Eddie secretly. Eddie was drinking in the sights of the bright pier again. Richie yearned to do the same. Eddie brought out this side of him he hadn’t felt in years. Seeing Paradise Pier in Eddie’s eyes was like seeing it anew. The lights seemed brighter, the attractions faster, the people kinder. It was exhilarating; a fresh start. It was magical once more. Richie hadn’t realized he’d missed this perspective.

The boardwalk games lined their south side of the pier, several booths sitting side by side, each with flashing signs and prizes hanging on display. The familiar sounds weren’t a bother to Richie after a quick glance at Eddie’s eager, infectious excitement. Richie may have spent hours upon hours at these very booths each week, but as with everything that lined the pier, Eddie made it new.

There were lines for each booth; children with their parents, teenagers with hearts in their eyes, friends with booming laughter. Richie pulled Eddie towards the shortest line, tugging at his wrist until they were standing behind a man and what looked to be his daughter.

“This is the ring toss,” Richie pointed to the big bright letters that hung above the wooden booth.

“What’s a ring toss?” Eddie asked, and Richie found he wasn’t even that surprised. It was kind of Eddie’s thing at this point—an incredible inability to know about anything fun.

“Only where I spend like ninety hours a week,” Richie offered with a shrug and a wink.

“That sounds like a lot,” Eddie gave him an incredulous look. “You guys don’t seriously work that long here, do you?”

“Maybe not quite that long,” Richie shrugged. “Though if it’s real fucking hot, it feels like longer.” Eddie looked highly concerned but was broken from his thoughts when it was their turn.

Richie slipped over several dollar bills in exchange for several rings. He slipped them onto his wrist, turning to Eddie to make eye contact before he spoke.

“Watch,” Richie instructed. “as a master shows you how it’s done.”

Without wasting another second, Richie swung his arm back and forth, chucking the ring towards the bottles. Just as he let go of the tightly woven stringed ring, an idea came to mind. Instead of making the perfect throw—as he was often capable of, considering the hours he’d spent at this booth alone—he arched his wrist an inch, making the ring fly far from its originally directed destination.

Instead of facing Eddie—and why not?!—Richie threw the remaining rings around his wrist completely randomly. Not one made it to a bottles neck, and Richie almost clapped himself on the back for managing to miss every single one. Eddie’s voice pulled him to finally face the other, a bewildered look on his face.

“So is the point of this game to miss every single throw?” Even despite the seriousness of his question, Richie could hear the teasing lilt hidden in his voice. Richie scoffed loudly, although he was spurred on by Eddie’s attention.

“I’ll have you know that I’m a professional at these games, Eddie Confetti!” Richie defended, slipping over more cash in exchange of another set of rings.

“Professionally bad? Like you are with remembering people’s names?” Eddie’s voice had a covert giggle, and it proved to be pure adrenaline for Richie’s already overenthusiastic energy.

“I remember your name, Edward! It’s just boring. You have to let me add some pizazz to it,”

“Pizazz?” Eddie furrowed his eyebrows. “Is that what you call it?”

Richie gasped in mock pain, launching in an Innocent Fair Maiden Voice (or at least that’s what he’d told Stan it was). “Why I never!”

“Throw the rings, Tozier,” Victor was stationed at the booth, an unimpressed look on his face. If only he knew he was experiencing top tier flirting—he’d never really liked Richie.

“Here, you take a turn, Eds,” Richie offered a ring to Eddie, whose eyes grew.

“Me?”

“No, the other Eds standing beside you,” Richie’s voice was sarcastic, earning him an eyeroll from Eddie.

“I don’t know how!” Before Richie could respond, Eddie spoke again. “But it seems like neither do you, so,” and with that he grabbed the ring offered to him and faced the many bottles standing feet away from them.

Richie watched in quiet fascination as Eddie’s tongue slipped from his mouth, and with a flick of his wrist the ring went flying. Richie held his breath as it arced over the counter, and barely missed a bottle. It bounced off the edge of the table and fell to the ground.

“Whoa, good try-” Richie was stopped midsentence as Eddie wordlessly grabbed another ring from Richie and tossed it towards the bottles. This ring missed again.

“You can’t just chuck ‘em,” Richie spoke up, slipping the remaining rings down his arm as he always did. With only one ring in his grasp, he lined up the shot with his eyes. “You gotta be gentle.”

“Says the guy who missed five in a row!” Eddie scoffed.

“You’d be surprised,” Richie muttered, throwing the ring the right way for once. The pair watched it perfectly slip down the neck of a bottle.

“What the fuck?!” Eddie turned on him. “Do that again!”

“Yeah, okay,” Richie wasn’t sure why he was holding his breath, or clenching his jaw, so he attempted to relax altogether. With a deep inhale, he tossed another ring. Of course, this one was a perfect shot again.

“You’re insane,” Eddie grumbled, grabbing for the last ring. But Richie—determined to what? (show off, win a prize?)—threw it before Eddie could get his hands on it and made another perfect shot.

“Hey!” Eddie exclaimed, adorable pout fixated on his features.

“You made four out of five,” Victor spoke up, shocking Richie as he’d forgotten the big asshole was still standing there. “Pick from this wall right here,” with his monotonous voice, he pointed to the wall of tiny prizes.

“What’ll it be, Eds?” Richie turned to him, nodding his head over to the little sea creature plushies.

“Huh?” Eddie’s look of pure confusion was settling across his features. Richie just _barely_ stopped himself from reaching over and pinching at his cheeks. Maybe it was because of Victor’s ominous presence, or the adrenaline still pumping through him.

“A prize to remember tonight by,” Richie pointed this time. “What’ll it be? Octopus, dolphin, crab or blow fish?” Richie did his best Vanna White; a great sweeping arm to show off the prize wall he knew so well.

“That looks nothing like a blow fish!” Eddie scoffed, as if this were a personal attack against him. Richie held back a laugh, instead choosing to make his best mournful face.

“I’m sorry, Eds,” he spoke softly. “What a tragedy, and on such a special day, too.”

“Oh fuck off,” Eddie elbowed him—which was stupidly an incredible _touch_ to Richie, whose mind was swimming in many directions—before turning to Victor, “I’ll take the dolphin,”

“Is the dolphin anatomically correct, Eds?” Richie ribbed as he they walked away from the game booth. “Or is it a heinous act on disgusting levels?”

“Seriously, fuck off,” Eddie huffed, though the tops of his cheeks were a light pink, and Richie knew he absolutely could not stop. “My name is Eddie, and I just think it’s funny that that atrocity can pass as a blowfish, that’s all.”

Victor handed Eddie the dolphin, which Eddie did give a sweep over. Richie laughed softly, though he was unsure if Eddie heard him or not. Instead of mentioning the giggle, Eddie asked,

“So you work on the games?”

“Oh, yeah, I do,” Richie answers lamely. “I tell people the rules, and I hand out rings or darts or baseballs, and then I award prizes. And when we’re slow I play myself. Or sometimes my friend Bill comes, and he needs a competition so I play against him. He’s unfairly good at all of them now.”

“Bill?” Eddie recoiled, as if that was the only thing Richie mentioned.

“Uh, yeah, he’s my friend. You haven’t met him yet. He’s like yea tall,” Richie motioned to a height somewhere between the two. “And he’s got red highlights, like a goof, although I have to admit that he _can_ work them.”

“Okay,” Eddie nodded, which Richie admitted to himself was slightly strange. He wasn’t sure how to address it but was luckily saved by Eddie pointing further down the pier. “What other games do you work at?”

“Oh, well there’s darts and this really kiddy fishing game. We also have water guns, which is kind of my favorite, because when kids play they hit the edges of the target instead of the bullseye and it sprays water all over the booth, which is a great cool down when the suns beating down on you. And there’s also the baseball throwing game, which is Bill’s favorite because apparently that show-off played in high school.” Richie hadn’t meant to talk so fast, but the words had tumbled out nonetheless.

“You must be really close to Bill,” Eddie commented just as Richie finished, leaving Richie reeling to understand.

“I, uh, yeah, I guess so,” Richie scratched at his scalp, running fingers through his unruly curls. “He’s a fucking riot.”

“What does he do on the pier?” Eddie asked, as they began walking down the pier again. Richie could admit he’d had more than enough to drink, which may have been why he was having a hard time following Eddie’s thought processes. Had they run into Bill and Richie couldn’t remember it now? Did Eddie know Bill?

“He’s a fisherman,” Richie answered, voice hitching into a Pirate Voice, “Young scallywag hunts fer treasure out at sea,”

“Really?!” Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Has he found any?”

“Oh, no,” Richie shook his head, suddenly wishing he hadn’t had so much to drink earlier. “He just goes fishing. And then he catches fish, and he sells them.”

“Oh,” Eddie’s features morphed into something Richie couldn’t easily identify. He hadn’t seen this look yet.

“Yeah,” Richie nodded, wanting desperately to understand where this conversation was headed. Or what Eddie was looking for.

“Interesting,” Eddie spoke again. “Your job is better.”

“You gotta tell Bill that sometime,” Richie couldn’t help his laughter; this was definitely the cool-factor he needed.

“Okay, yeah, sure,” Eddie nodded his head, rubbing at the dolphin plush still in his grasps.

They had finally met the edge of the pier, walking back onto the sand. At nightfall, the sand was cool, slipping through their flip-flops. At nightfall, the coastal air was breezy. At nightfall, Richie felt lighter. There was nothing to do but enjoy the moment. Nothing to do but be happy.

“I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” Eddie whispered, almost as if he didn’t want Richie to hear. They were side-by-side, taking slow strides against the beach. Richie didn’t know what to say. Because if Eddie hadn’t meant to say it aloud, Richie didn’t want to embarrass him. And yet, if Eddie had meant to, Richie didn’t know how to say that Eddie reminded him of the essence of Paradise Pier.

“It’s a real fucking riot here,” he said, because his mouth was incapable of being quiet for even a moment.

Paradise View Apartments stood in front of them, hundreds of little square windows lit up from the inside. It was another sight that caught Richie’s breath. Something about knowing others were happy here, too.

“I always imagined what this place would be like,” Eddie murmured, his voice no louder than the ocean breeze. But this time he was facing Richie, words forming on his rose-colored lips. “But I could’ve never dreamed it’d be this wonderful,”

“You have to tell me where you’re from,” the words spilled from Richie’s parted lips, despite his best drunken effort to keep them in.

“Oh,” Eddie paused, head tipping down slightly. “It’s nothing special. It’s actually more like really fucking stupid.”

“I still wanna know,” Richie pressed on, because now that it was out there, he had to chase the answer.

Eddie didn’t say anything, just glanced down at their feet. He was still clutching the stuffed dolphin, holding it against his chest.

“Come back with me,” Richie said quickly, before he lost his nerve. He was driven by pure drunken adrenaline, acting on his biggest dreams. “It’s late. Just stay the night with me tonight.”

Eddie glanced up, catching Richie’s gaze. There was a moment of heavy silence, where Richie could hear his own heart beating.

“Come on,” Richie pressed, feeling suddenly emblazoned with courage. “You’ll love my place.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Eddie teased quietly. His eyes looked sad. “But I should be getting back.”

“It’s just one night,” Richie tried again, and really he should feel pathetic about the entire situation. They were both adults. Richie shouldn’t be begging this beautiful boy to ditch his family to spend the night. This wasn’t a middle school sleepover. And yet, here they were, standing across from one another with pleas on Richie’s chapped lips.

“But,” Eddie started, though he stopped abruptly. He had a glint of something in his eyes, and Richie nearly tugged Eddie along without another word.

“You know you want to,” Richie sing-songed, making his voice sound borderline whiney.

“I do,” Eddie finally said, giving voice to the desire shining in his moon-bright eyes. “If only things were that easy.”

“They can be,” Richie pressed.

“I wish, Richie,” Eddie smiled sadly.

“Come take a look at the housing accommodations before you decide to move here,” Richie suggested. “Come see my place, I’ll make you popcorn, we can watch a movie. I just,” Richie paused, suddenly feeling every bit foolish. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. Maybe begging a nearly perfect stranger to stay wasn’t one of his best ideas.

But when Eddie worried his bottom lip, and bounced on the balls of his feet, Richie felt like maybe it wasn’t the craziest idea.

“If you’re sure,” Eddie murmured, and Richie nearly tipped over in shock. Despite his pleading, he hadn’t expected the answer, nor the butterflies in his stomach, nor the leap of his heart.

“I’m fucking positive,” Richie smiled, reaching across the distance to grab Eddie’s hand, pulling him along behind him. He walked quickly, afraid Eddie would change his mind. Though Eddie didn’t seem to mind, giggling and following along.

Hand in jittery-hand, they climbed up the staircase, whispers and secrets against their lips. Suddenly, Richie wanted Eddie all to himself. He didn’t want to share with the party goers, and boardwalk friends, nor the beach. He craved Eddie’s attention, his solitude, his thoughts. Eddie was quick-witted and could banter and made the cutest faces. And if they weren’t alone soon, Richie thought he might just lose it.

There were too many things to say and to ask. Richie had been holding in questions since the day they’d met. Although it felt wrong to pressure Eddie, and to pry, Richie wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait.

As they approached Richie’s apartment door, his adrenaline doubled. Richie pounded on the door twice, loudly. Several minutes passed, and no one came to the door. Which was great. Richie hunted for the spare key, shoved the door open, and pulled Eddie into the apartment behind him. It was a mess; despite Stan’s best effort. But despite it all, it still felt like a home; with the kitchen crowded with boxes of food, and the living room shoe pile, and the clean laundry basket of beach towels. It was lived in, and Richie knew the appeal of that, could see the wonder of it etched across Eddie’s features.

“You live here?” Eddie murmured, reaching out to grab a picture frame sitting on the coffee table. It was a picture of Richie and Stan, arms wrapped around each others bodies. (It was from the first month they’d lived together. They’d lived off of ramen noodles, mac and cheese, and fruit snacks. They didn’t leave the beach until moonlight. Richie had been so at peace, and he knew Stan had been, too. Bev had taken the picture, and it was still one of Richie’s very favorites.)

“Yep,” Richie nodded, popping the ‘p’, while glancing around the living room. “I’d say I’m sorry for the mess, but I’m really not.”

Eddie had a look that he sometimes gave when he ought to be laughing, a mixture of happiness and disbelief. “Somehow I’m not surprised.”

“Stan would be so embarrassed,” Richie told him. “He’s always cleaning up before we have guests over.”

“Poor Stan,” Eddie clucks, walking further into the living room and glancing at a pile of postcards Maggie and Went had sent him from their various travels, each one stating ‘ _Wish You Were Here’_. “Having to clean up after you all the time.”

“Yeah,” Richie agreed. “But he’s not here right now,” he said lamely, sort of wishing he hadn’t said it at all. Although, Eddie’s smile changed as he turned to look at Richie.

“I guess not,” his voice was nearly a whisper, captivating Richie, pulling him back into Eddie’s orbit.

Eddie’s eyes were a golden-brown tonight, like melted caramel and sunshine. (Which Richie would never admit he was sort of emotional about. They were the warmest Richie remembered ever seeing them. They were soft, and Richie felt comforted just glancing into them. It was a tranquil, smooth, calming shade, all pooled together in Eddie’s irises.)

The alcohol, and the adrenaline, and the excitement were lighting Richie’s veins. He felt dizzy and nervous and absolutely giddy. His mind couldn’t focus, his thoughts a jumble of _Eddie, Eddie, Eddie_. All things he couldn’t quite place into words. Which, yes, thank you alcohol. He wasn’t sure it was possible to describe the fluttering in his stomach, or the electricity in a glance.

Eddie’s smile was somehow both tentative and vibrant.

Richie didn’t tear his eyes away, couldn’t even had he wanted to. There was a magnetic field holding them together. He watched Eddie’s shoulders rise and fall, and the motion of him biting at his bottom lip. He could see the curls clinging to the back of his neck with sweat, and the way his shirt billowed as the ceiling fan spun above them. And so it instantly concerned Richie when Eddie winced, taking in a sharp, pained breath.

“Whoa, you okay?” Richie asked, taking a step towards Eddie.

Eddie took a step back, before faltering with his footing. He either didn’t hear or chose to ignore Richie, instead leaning down to knead at his calf muscles.

“Here,” Richie rushed over, arms spazzing as he fumbled to know how to help. He finally chose to wrap an arm around Eddie’s waist, hoping to support Eddie’s weight.

“I’m fine,” Eddie muttered, though pain was clear in his voice. “It’s just, like, a leg cramp, I think.”

“Um, okay,” Richie murmured back, guiding Eddie to his bedroom. Richie didn’t spare the disastrous mess a thought, just eased Eddie onto the bed. It was a long way down to the plain mattress on his floor, and Eddie winced half-way down.

“There you go, Eds,” Richie mumbled, not bothering to keep the gentle coo out of his voice. “You okay now? You just let me know what you need and I’ll get it. We have ice packs in the freezer if you need one,” words tumbled off his lips, but Eddie didn’t say another word as he settled onto the mattress. His facial features, however, gave away changes from agony, to pain, to a dull ache.

“What the fuck,” Richie could just barely make out the words that finally came from Eddie’s lips. He slithered into a laying down position, bonking his head on the wall as he went down. He cursed under his breath, clamping his eyes shut and then laying very still. And then, “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, a new kind of pain evident in his voice.

“What the fuck do you have to be sorry about?” Richie asked in disbelief. He elevated the pitch of his voice, before saying, “I’m sorry I’m a real life person with real life emotions and shit.” Richie coughed, then, “You don’t apologize about that kind of shit, dude. _I’m_ sorry,”

Eddie didn’t say anything, just continued to lay very still. Though his features had relaxed a smidge, hopefully a clue that he was feeling better about everything now.

“How are you feeling now?” Richie asked, hoping to get a confirmation of what he saw on Eddie’s face.

“Fine,” Eddie mumbled. “I like this,”

“The mattress?” Richie asked, shaking his body enough to make the mattress bounce.

“No, dipshit,” Eddie chuckled lightly, which was music to Richie’s ears and balm to his concerned heart. “Just, this room in general.”

“Well thanks,” Richie laid down then, too, turning on his side to face Eddie.

“That was such a lame response,” Eddie chuckled again.

“Hey!” Richie squawked. “Nobody’s ever said they liked this pile of junk shithole! Forgive me for not knowing how to respond!”

“It’s full of things that remind me of you,” Eddie supplied. “It looks like something you’d live in, and I think that’s nice. It isn’t sterile, or void of personality.”

“Mayhaps ye are bitter about some-ting,” Richie did his best Irish accent, earning him a smile from Eddie.

“Mayhaps?” Eddie asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, sir,” Richie hummed his assent.

“Mayhaps,” Eddie said it this time with a solemn agreement, giving Richie a view into what Eddie’s home life was like; a room bare of life and sentimental trinkets. There were still things scattered around Richie’s room from his childhood, things he wasn’t ready to get rid of. Did Eddie have the button-pin his grandma had gotten him from her trip to the Grand Canyon, or the clay turtle that he’d made in fifth grade?

“Eds,” Richie murmured the nickname, ignoring Eddie’s huff. “Why can’t you stay?” And at that, Eddie’s face fell. He sucked in a deep breath, and turned away from Richie, fixing his gaze on the glow-in-the-dark, plastic star covered ceiling.

Richie didn’t regret asking, even as Eddie continued to breath deeply, his focus far from Richie. If there was some way to fix things, Richie knew he wouldn’t hesitate for even a moment. If there was some way to keep Eddie smiling forever, Richie had to know it. As sadness washed over Eddie’s features, Richie was happy he had waited for this comforting solitude before asking. Here, it was just the two of them, in a space Eddie had already deemed comfortable.

Despite not knowing the outcome, Richie slowly reached an arm out towards Eddie. He moved slowly, allowing Eddie an opportunity to deny the touch. When Eddie remained still, Richie finally touched the skin of Eddie’s smooth arm. Even after a moment, Eddie didn’t flinch or pull away, so Richie began rubbing gentle circles.

“It’s just that,” when Eddie began speaking again, sadness had leaked back into his eyes, a thick bitterness in his voice. “My mother is set in her ways. She is unable and unwilling to try and understand how I feel, or what I want. And I’m twenty fucking years old,” he added the last bit with a hint of anger.

“Yowza,” Richie breathed, regretting it the second he couldn’t take it back.

“She expects _so much_ from me,” Eddie sounded nearly tearful. “So I ran, because I cannot do what she is now asking of me. She has no idea how fucked up her newest request is.”

Eddie’s painful admission didn’t answer Richie’s question. Except that maybe it did; he couldn’t stay because of his mom.

Richie sighed, raising his now shaking hand to brush a finger against the side of Eddie’s face. He brushed a few stray strands of hair, pushing them back against his scalp. “You have to be happy, first and foremost.”

“It’s not that easy,” Eddie’s own sigh was heavy. “I have a duty back home.” And Richie understood that; the pressure to become what your parents wanted. But even if they weren’t always happy about his decisions, they were supportive always. Eddie’s mother didn’t seem to know how to be that for her son.

“That fucking blows,” Richie grumbled. “She’s gotta understand that you have to make your own decisions at some point. She’s gotta get over it,”

“I agree,” Eddie murmured. “But she’ll never see it.”

“You just have to tell her,” Richie insisted, feeling his own vibrating anger boiling up.

“Don’t you think I’ve fucking tried?” Eddie lamented miserably. “She won’t hear it.”

“Let me talk to her. I’ve got a way of charming moms,” Richie teased, finger still drawing it’s soothing path against Eddie’s face. “Once I’ve had my wicked way with her she’ll be unable to resist my charming request.”

Eddie smiled, and it was such a lovely contradiction; the sadness and joy mixed against his features.

Richie pulled his hand away then, situating himself to fully see Eddie.

“That’s a disaster waiting to happen,” Eddie’s voice was rueful; his wish so close yet still so far.

“If she really loves you, she’ll want what’s best for you,” Richie’s voice was full of conviction, the truth he wanted Eddie to understand.

Eddie didn’t say anything, though. Instead, he lay very still, his lips pressed firmly together. Richie watched closely, as Eddie blinked quickly. His eyelashes crashed together in quick successions. In moments they were damp, and then dry, as Eddie no doubt fought off tears.

The feeling of helplessness settled in Richie’s stomach. He wanted to talk until Eddie agreed to run away forever. But it suddenly felt useless.

“Thanks, Richie,” Eddie’s voice broke their silence, the quietness of it nearly sweeping it away into the dark room.

“C’mon, Eds, I can be really convincing.” Richie knew he was begging now, unable to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

“I’m sure,” Eddie mumbled. “I’ve been trying to stay hopeful, like Ben says, but I just can’t anymore,”

“Ben, huh?” Richie poked at Eddie’s side, fighting the weirdness bubbling in his stomach. “Is he your dashing man back home?”

“Fuck off,” Eddie grumbled. “He’s just Ben. Sure, he’s dashing, but he’s like a brother. We’ve known each other forever.” Eddie turned to make eye contact with Richie. “I wouldn’t be here without him. He’s covering for me back home.”

“Well then, you can bestow my utmost gratitude upon him,”

“What does that even fucking mean?” Eddie asked incredulously, though there was ever a hint of his _cute_ smile.

Richie laughed, feeling a large dose of _something_ he couldn’t put words to. “It means I’m glad you’re fucking here, I guess. Jesus Christ, Eds, cut a man wide open why don’tcha!”

Eddie laughed then, too. It was contagious, leaving Richie bubbling with the same emotions painted across Eddie’s features. Sure the hopeless darkness hadn’t completely left the room, but there was something light about sharing the moment here together.

“I’m just happy here,” Eddie sighed, that familiar wistfulness apparent in his voice.

Richie selfishly wanted to answer with ‘stay’. But he swallowed the word down before opening his mouth.

“I’m glad, Eds,”

“Even though you can’t remember my fucking name,” Eddie didn’t sound angry though, just barely miffed.

Eddie fell asleep first, his breathing evening out over time. Richie knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer. Eddie’s body was warm and cozy, cuddled right up next to his. It was a dream come true. Eddie was a goddamn dream come true; Richie was positive of it now. His sweet features, kind disposition, compassion for the people back home. His feisty, witty personality and hidden smiles. Richie was positively star-struck. And it was with heavy eyelids, and a wishful heart, that Richie clamped his eyes shut, and fell asleep beside him.

In the morning, Richie poured them both bowls of cereal. They ate in Richie’s bed, the comforter tangled up between them. After going back to the kitchen for his third bowl, Eddie brought the box into the bedroom. Eddie completed the challenges on the back of the box—the maze, and the wordsearch—laughing at all of the Voices Richie gave the characters plastered on the front of the box.

After searching Richie’s closet for something to wear, deeming everything either _horrendous_ or _fucking weird_ , Eddie finally settled on a white v-neck and a pair of swim trunks. Richie pulled on a pair of swim trunks and a t-shirt that read in curling writing _Girls Just Wanna Have Sun_.

As they thundered down the stairs and towards the shore, it was easy to pretend that this could be their life. Because happiness and butterflies fluttering in his stomach were certainly what Richie had been missing.

“Ever built a sandcastle?” Richie asked once they’d made it down to the beach. Eddie shook his head, adding another bullet point to the list deemed _Eddie’s Shitty Childhood_. “You wanna try?” Richie asked, and Eddie merely nodded again.

Richie plopped himself onto the sand, patting the spot beside him. Eddie followed his lead, wincing as he did so. Richie did his best to ignore it, beginning demonstrating packing the sand together, using his hands as shovels to collect as much sand as possible. Eddie pushed, too, following Richie’s instructions as a science.

But as they built, there was a deep silence from Eddie. Even as Richie joked and poked at Eddie, he was ever still. It is disconcerting, and the lack of excitement across his features wasn’t right either. Eddie’s face was supposed to be a myriad of excitement and curiosity. Instead, he was tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth, right eye twitching.

“Uh, you okay, Eds?” Richie asked, looking Eddie up and down for a sign.

Eddie merely nodded. Eddie’s acceptance of the nickname was concerning enough for Richie.

“You promise?” Richie tried, hoping to get any kind of verbal response.

Eddie nodded again, albeit less enthusiastically. But before Richie could speak again, Eddie murmured, “Can we just build the sandcastle now?” Richie wanted to push it, but at the steely look on Eddie’s face, Richie decided to let the issue go.

But when Eddie’s face morphed into pain again, he kicked his legs out until they were splayed straight in front of him. His kneeling position was quickly switched to cross-legged.

“Is the floor lava?” The words tumbled from Richie’s filter-less mouth, despite his desire to let Eddie be.

“Lava?” Eddie asked simply, a question in his voice. But his features remained tense.

“Yeah, y’know like magma, but earthside?” Richie rattled out, feeling suddenly jittery.

“This is sand,” Eddie stated, as if he was educating Richie. “Not lava.”

“Right, I just meant,” Richie shook his head. “Y’know what, nevermind.”

Eddie let it go, and Richie wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not.

Richie began packing sand together, explaining the entire process as he went. Things like, “You need a solid base,” and “A wall around the grounds is important,” and “Every castle needs a turret.”

Eddie followed along, though his quick-witted comments were missing. He wasn’t teasing Richie or correcting the nickname. Richie watched as he twitched and winced, rearranging his body every couple of seconds.

Together they packed sand against the side of the castle, but suddenly Eddie’s hands were missing. Richie glanced up in time to see Eddie kneading at his thighs.

As Richie cleared his throat, he tried a simple, “Eds?”

Eddie didn’t look from his task, as he grumbled out a, “Mhm?”

“You still doing okay?” Richie hated the uncertainty in his voice.

“Fine,” again, Eddie kept his head bowed, his features fixated in pain.

“I’m no doctor, but you don’t look so great.”

This time, Eddie did glance up, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, a truly pitiful look settling against his soft face. He didn’t have to say a word, everything Richie wanted to know was painted on his face.

“Is there anything I can do?” Richie asked helplessly.

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do,” Eddie managed, his attention falling back to rubbing at his kneecaps, biting down on his lip once again.

“I give great massages,” Richie lunged towards Eddie, though Eddie only winced and hopped backwards. In his scramble, he sprayed sand around them.

“I think I need to go,” Eddie groaned.

“What?!” Richie struggled, wondering when he’d gotten so out of the loop. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I have to go,” Eddie insisted, scrambling to get to his feet.

“But we haven’t built our sandcastle!” Richie did his best to not sound defeated and angry, all the while knowing he was failing. He hadn’t known Eddie more than two weeks, and yet he felt a throbbing in his chest, something tugging him towards the other.

Eddie was wobbly on his feet, enough to snap Richie from his inner monologue and up onto his feet. He wrapped an arm around Eddie’s middle, an instant heaviness taking over when Eddie leaned his full weight against him. Richie could hear Eddie take several deep breaths, just as he felt the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest.

“Rich,” Eddie’s frantic voice pulled Richie back towards him, their eyes meeting, the space between them feeling much too small and yet too large. Eddie’s voice held a million, swirling emotions. Enough to pause Richie’s raging mind. “I’ll see you soon, I promise,”

“You can barely stand!” Richie challenged, squeezing Eddie’s side as if to remind him of his current situation.

“Then you understand my urgency,” Eddie’s voice was full of conviction.

“I don’t know!” Richie could feel his own frantic energy rising, searching Eddie’s eyes for a hint of _anything_ reassuring.

“Please, Richie,” Eddie was biting at his bottom lip again, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. “You have to trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t fucking trust you,” Richie groaned, struggling to keep Eddie standing. “It’s just-”

“I’m fine,” Eddie cut him off, pulling out of his hold, stumbling along the way. “I’m okay, but you have to let me go. I’ll explain soon.”

Richie couldn’t find the words, his mind a tumbling, whirling mess.

“Soon, I promise,” Eddie murmured.

Richie couldn’t say another word before Eddie was pulling and turning away, ducking quickly behind a group of tourists. Within seconds, Richie couldn’t see him any longer. He squinted, looking into the distance. But everything faded into the horizon. Each face unfamiliar.

“Fuck,” he cursed, heart stinging in his chest. Frustration coated his insides, unshed tears pricking at his eyes.

The boy made Richie unbelievably happy.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave me a review, they make my whole week.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you are enjoying so far. Please, I invite you to leave reviews. What did you think? What did you like? What stood out to you? What is your favorite cotton candy flavor? Where's your favorite place to sit on a roller coaster? Mines definitely the back!


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